Children of the Revolution
by RedCoatsRedder
Summary: The Hamilsquad are teenagers! Well, they're thirteen. CLOSE ENOUGH! Takes place during the American Revolution. WASHINGDAD! Enjoy! Please review!
1. We're In New York

**Ok, so this is for the wonderful artistart85. So, mon ami, I'm afraid it's not quite what you requested, but I wasn't quite sure how to write that so this is my best shot. It's not that great but I hope you all like it.**

 **I own nothing, and this is totally not historically accurate.**

The ship sailed into the New York harbor. Alexander Hamilton stood on the bow of the ship, breathing in the fresh air. _In New York you can be a new man. In New York…._ Sea spray flung up from the ocean in a fine mist, and he smiled gleefully. This was the first time he had been truly happy since his mother had died.

The bow of the boat scraped up against the dock. Sailors jumped from the ship's deck to the wooden harbor, tying down ropes, lowering sails, calling out to one another. The gangplank dropped with a loud _clunk._

Alexander walked down and into the city, gazing around reverently. New York, at last. He was in America! Land of freedom, opportunities, and revolution. As soon as he got his education, he would join the fight against England for independence.

But…..where would he stay? How was he to eat, and who could he live with while he was attending school? For a mere thirteen year old, he was quite intelligent, but that still wouldn't qualify him to live alone. If Alexander could find someone to take him in, just for a few years, he could repay them later.

So lost in thought, Alex didn't notice the man on the white horse crossing his path. The horse's whinny startled him out of his reverie, and he looked up in shock, too frozen with fear to get out of the way. Alexander couldn't move as the horse reared up, hooves poised perfectly over his head, ready to slam down on him.

* * *

John Laurens bounced on his heels, excited by the atmosphere of the city. It was contagious, the revolutionary spirit. His father's hand rested on his shoulder, and John attempted to quell his excitement.

Henry Laurens had enlisted in the army to fight for independence. He'd brought his thirteen- year- old son, John, with him to New York, thinking that he might be of some use to the army, maybe as a messenger or just to help if it was needed.

They were jostled by the crowds as they made their way through the city streets, searching for someone to tell them where to find the nearest military base.

As they went deeper downtown, John couldn't take it and burst into another wide grin.

* * *

Hercules Mulligan walked alongside the tailor. He'd been apprenticed to the man, but he planned one day to socially advance, not one to be stuck sewing pants forever.

Their services had been requested by General Washington, who believed that they could be helpful. And by that, he meant they were to spy on the British.

It was an exciting opportunity, and Hercules has never been one to turn down a chance to succeed. Smiling up at the older man, they headed off to commandeer horses to take them to the army's camp.

* * *

Marie- Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, or just Gilbert, or sometimes Lafayette, was standing in a shipyard. He was waiting for a man who'd apparently be picking him up. He didn't know his name, but Gilbert had been told that he was a pleasant, friendly man, and to be honest, he could get along with nearly anyone.

A flustered looking man approached him, and asked, gasping, "Pardon me, are you Gilbert? I'm looking for a boy of about your age, which I'm guessing is thirteen or so, he's French and I'm to look after him…" The man cut off suddenly, maybe realizing that a French immigrant might not understand English.

Fortunately for the man, Lafayette had picked up enough English to understand, and he grabbed his arm before the man ran off. "Sir, oui I am Gilbert, or you can call me Lafayette or Marquis."

The other looked relieved. "Ah. I'm glad to meet you, young man. My name….." Gilbert stopped listening, too caught up in the excitement of seeing the new city before him.

* * *

The horse was only seconds away from crushing his skull and killing him instantly, but Alexander was frozen in place. Time seemed to slow down, and he watched as the animal's legs came down slowly, and as the man mounted on the horse tugged the reins just in time to save his life.

Staggering backward, Alexander clutched at a post for support. The man on the horse swept off, throwing the loop of reins over a nearby hitching pole. "Son, are you alright?"

"Yes sir. I'm terribly sorry, sir. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble." Hopefully the man wouldn't be too angry with him, because he was _enormous_. Incredibly tall, and muscle- bound. Alexander did not want to invoke the wrath of this man, he'd learnt that after his father's drunken nights.

"No, no, it's ok. Say, what's your name, son?"

"I- I am Alexander Hamilton, sir."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, I'm George Washington."

* * *

John's father had managed to find someone who knew the location of the army's base. It wasn't all that far, and they were riding out tomorrow.

As luck would have it, General Washington was also going to be at the base. They'd been in the command of the greatest general in the world.

His father did not share John's attitude. Henry Laurens seemed sulky and didn't speak much. Then again, he hadn't exactly been thrilled at the prospect of leaving South Carolina in the first place. But duty calls, and here they were, fighting for the freedom of their country.

They managed to find rooms in a nearby inn, settling in for the night. Their two horses were stabled in the yard, ready for a quick departure at first light.

His excitement returned with vengeance, and John bounced on the edge of his bed. He couldn't wait to reach the camp tomorrow.

* * *

Mounted on a horse, Hercules and the older tailor were headed off to join the army. They'd stay at the base for a month or so, then they would be heading off for British territory and start their spying mission.

After, the two would frequent the camp every so often, checking up with the General. Delivering reports, exchanging information.

"You've been awfully quiet, Hercules. Scared?" The tailor teased. "Not in the slightest." Hercules retorted.

The other man laughed. Spurring their horses forward, they rode on down the road.

* * *

Gilbert followed his new companion through the streets of New York. The man talked incessantly, commenting on the buildings and the people. He replied occasionally with a nod or a grunt.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside a small house. Opening the door, the man ushered Gilbert inside. Waiting in the hall was a friendly looking woman who immediately hugged him.

"Oh, you must be Gilbert! Or, well, we can call you something else if you'd rather. But it's so good to meet you! Welcome to America!"

"Um, Gilbert is fine. It is wonderful to meet you as well, Madame."

She smiled and hugged him again. "You must be tired after such a long journey. Why don't I show you to your room, and then you can get settled in. We'll eat dinner in a little."

Nodding his assent, Gilbert allowed himself to be led through the house and to a room in the back. Much like rest of the place, it was small but nicely furnished. A window let in the daylight, a bed was tucked into the corner along with a wardrobe.

The woman closed the door, saying, "I'll just leave you to get settled in. Come down when you're ready." He flopped down on the bed as soon as she left, overcome with both excitement to be here and sadness at leaving France. No matter. Gilbert could be happy in this new country. In his new home.

 **So, this is chapter one! I'm sorry it was so short, but I plan on having this be a very long story. I hope you all enjoyed this. I'll have the next one up soon. See you all soon! ~RedCoatsRedder**


	2. Revolution's Knocking on Our Doors

**Chapter two! If you're still reading, thank you! Enjoy!**

Alexander had barely been in America for half and hour before he nearly got himself killed. And now he was making small talk with the man who'd saved him.

George Washington….. he sounded important, but Alex couldn't quite put his finger on it. But the man was speaking again.

"Are you looking for someone? Here, come with me, I'll help you find them."

Swallowing his nerves, Alexander responded. "No, sir, I'm just looking for a place to stay. Do you- do you know anywhere?"

The man frowned. "Do you have any family in New York? A relative or a friend? You won't last long out on the streets."

"No, sir, I- I'm an orphan, sir, and I'm from the Caribbean. I just got to America today, sir."

Mr. Washington nodded. "Ah. Well, in that case, why don't you come with me. We can work something out."

He didn't quite trust the man yet, but Alexander was out of options. "Thank you, sir."

Alexander walked beside the man, the cursed horse trailing after them. George Washington was asking him little questions about himself, and he responded best he could without having to talk too much about his past.

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Why did you come to America?"

"I got a scholarship to a school in New York City. And it sounded far better than the Carribean."

The questions continued, until they stopped outside a inn, and the older man turned inside, giving the reins of his horse to a stable boy. Then he turned to Alexander. "Come along, son."

 _I'm not his son,_ Alex thought as he trailed behind Washington. The inn was homey, and Alexander looked around as Washington spoke to the innkeeper. The man led the two down the corridor, and opened a door.

George Washington stepped inside, beckoning to Alexander when he hesitated. The room was nice enough, with two beds, a desk, and a wardrobe. Evening light filtered in the window. "Alexander- can I call you Alex? Are you hungry?"

Now that he stopped to think about it, Alexander was hungry. The last food he'd had had been the night before, on the ship. "Alex is fine, and yes, sir."

Washington chuckled. "Alright, then, Alex. Let's see what there is to eat."

Turns out, the inn's dining room had plenty to eat, though Alexander didn't eat much. He wouldn't want to burden the man, or take advantage of his kindness. Washington led him back to the room, and cleared his throat.

"Son, I was thinking. You seem like a good kid, and I don't want you to get hurt. So, how about you come stay with me until you're old enough to live on your own. Of course, it might be a little difficult. I'm riding out to the army's camp tomorrow, but you could come. I'm sure we can find something for you to do."

Alex doesn't know what to say. He's only just met the man, and barely knows him, if he can be trusted, if he would…. No. He wouldn't. But he might not get a chance like this again. The army. Something he heard on the ship came back to him.

 _General George Washington._

Wait.

"Are you General George Washington?"

The man smiles. "In the flesh, son." Alexander nods, his voice is stuck in his throat. "Thank- thank you for your kindness, sir."

Washington grins. "Call me George, son."

* * *

They were on the road, on the way to join the army at last. Henry Laurens was mounted on a stallion, looking brave and noble. John rode beside him, looking, well, looking like a thirteen year old boy excited for adventure.

The state of New York offered beautiful scenery as they rode through the little towns on the way to the camp. The two were silent, taking in the sights, and thinking. For John, it was mostly wondering if he'd meet anyone his age, and how he'd be able to assist the army. His father, on the other hand, thought about business back home in South Carolina, and how he couldn't wait for the war to end so he could get back to the plantation.

Sunshine beat down, and the world was bathed in the daylight. Or perhaps John was just romanticizing. But it was true that the grass and trees swayed gently in the wind, and light sparkled off of water in streams and ponds. Hope seemed to fill the air, hope for freedom, and a new country, and something about it made you want to fight for the future of such a wonderful place.

Well, he was on his way. He might be only thirteen, but John just knew that something would present itself, something that would allow him to write his way into the pages of history. Breaking into a huge grin, he glanced over at his father, whose brow furrowed, evidently not seeing what John was. No matter, he'd see soon enough.

* * *

At long last, after many long hours of riding, they had arrived! Hercules stood on a hill overlooking the camp of the Patriot army. White cloth tents and a few small buildings were spread out around the small town, and men ran to and from each, carrying papers, guns, or food. Squadrons leaned against their muskets, laughing and chatting amiably. In some areas, men were leading other groups, going through exercises, or practicing battle situations. The only thing it was lacking was organization.

As he and the tailor trotted through the camp on their horses, men stopped what they were doing to wave cheerfully. It didn't seem like an army at all, more like a summer gathering in a garden, with weapons. The tailor stopped a man rushing by, and asked where they could find General Washington, explaining that they were the new spies. The soldier told them that Washington was on his way to the camp, likely would arrive in a few days. "Go check in with one of the colonels, they'll be able to tell you where to stay for the time being."

Hercules was assigned to a tent in center of the campground, right at the center of all the action in the camp, as luck would have it. When the General did arrive, maybe he'd be close enough to see the man! Looking around hopefully, he sighed. No one at the camp seemed to be near to his age. If he gave it a few days, maybe he'd be able to make some friends, or at least find someone to spend time with before he and the tailor were sent off on their first spying mission against the British forces.

"Hercules! Get over here, we need to get our things set up, we could be here for a while." The tailor called out. "Coming!" Hercules yelled back. He turned and ran off to the tent, resigned to spending the afternoon setting up. Exploring would have to come later.

The tent was neat, their things were in order. The sun was just sinking over the trees when a new group of people came in, walking into a tent just across from Hercules's. Excitement was building in him. As far as he could tell, the newcomers were a grumpy- looking man, and a younger boy, who couldn't stop smiling and bouncing on his toes. He had poofy brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. As Hercules watched, the elder man groaned and said, "John, can you _please_ calm down for just one night?"

The boy, John, tried in vain to stifle his grin, failed, and broke into an even bigger smile. "Guess not, Dad, sorry." The man who must have been his father dropped his head onto the heel of his palm, sighing. "Alright. You stay here, I'm going to be back in about half and hour. I'd like to get a tour of the place, if I can." With that, he was off.

Hercules took a nervous step towards John, trying to decide how to introduce himself. Fortunately, he didn't have to. John noticed him and ran over, all excitement and smiles.

"Hi! John Laurens, of South Carolina." He held out a hand.

"Hercules Mulligan." Shaking John's hand, Hercules realized that he'd made his first friend in the Continental Army.

The two immediately hit it off. They spent the rest of the night talking and laughing, only separating to return to their respective tents when it got to be past midnight. Lying on his cot, Hercules gazed at the roof of the tent, content. The revolution had come to his life, and it had brought new people, places, and excitement.

* * *

It had been a few weeks, and Gilbert was beginning to settle into his new home. The Millers, as he had learned they were called, were kind and generous. But one one day, Mr. Miller came home looking troubled, bearing a letter. "What's happened?" Gilbert inquired. "More trouble from the British. I'm thinking of joining the Continental Army. What do you say say, Gil? How about we go enlist before Rebecca gets home, eh?"

The suggestion gave him pause. It would be wonderful to help the colonists fight for the freedom of America. Remembering how the frivolous activities of the French monarchs had angered him, and how similar the Americans' plight was, he nodded. "Oui. Let's go." He gripped John Miller by the forearm, dragging him towards the door. The man laughed. "Someone's enthusiastic." The plan was short lived, however, as Rebecca opened the door. She was back from...wherever it was that she went.

"What are you two up to?" She arched an eyebrow.

John rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing, darling. Gilbert and I were just going off to enlist in the army."

Rebecca pointed her fan at them like a sword. "I don't think so. Not before dinner, anyways. Sit down, the both of you. Maybe you can go enlist tomorrow. I'm thinking of coming with you. Those horrid redcoats. I see them when I walk through the streets. One of these days, I'm going to smack them right across the cheek. I can't take much more of them, I hope that General Washington gets them good and kicked off this shore for good."

Gilbert would never fail to be impressed by the fire inside Rebecca Miller. She was truly one of a kind, but she was also the sweetest, kindest person he'd ever met. People had a way of surprising you like that, he mused.

 **Chapter two, anyone? You guys are truly the most wonderful people in the world. Thanks for your continued support with all of my stories. Review please! ~RedCoatsRedder**


	3. On Our Way to Glory

**Ok so I'm so dreadfully sorry about how long this took. I had a stressful week with no time to write, but I'm back. Enjoy!**

Alexander was pushing his luck. In America for less than a day and he's landed himself at the side of one of the most renowned people in the world. General Washington was sitting next to him in the inn's dining room, and they conversed between bites. Thankfully, the man seemed to have caught on that Alex didn't want to talk about his past and pressed the matter no further.

After a few hours, General Washington rose from the table and grabbed Alexander by the shoulder. "Come on, son. We'd best get to sleep; we depart at first light."

Stifling a _don't call me son,_ Alexander nodded and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Washington gave him a look that said all too plainly _act like a gentleman._ It was almost enough to make him laugh. Barely hours after meeting him and the man was already scolding him. Except….he wouldn't get too mad, right? No. Probably not. But better to play it safe and follow his orders.

The room they'd commandeered was dimly lit in the dying light. Alexander nervously eyed Washington, watching as the man sat down on the edge of one bed, yawning. "Sir?" He spoke tentatively. "Where- where would you have me sleep?"

The General blinked once, twice. "Alex, there's two beds in the room for a reason, you know. What, were you expecting to sleep on the floor?"

Dipping his head bashfully, Alexander tried for a noncommittal expression. That was what he'd been expecting. He had assumed that someone else must be joining them, for why else would the man spend extra to get two beds when he really only needed one? "Sorry, sir."

Washington frowned but thankfully did not press the matter. "Don't apologize, son. Just go ahead to sleep, I will be waking you bright and early."

Alex complied, wriggling underneath the blankets and resting his head on the pillow. Almost immediately, he slept.

It was barely dawn when he was shaken awake by Washington and led downstairs where two horses were waiting in the yard. Blearily, he mounted one, the General looking on with an approving expression. The ride would be long, but they'd arrive before tomorrow night.

* * *

John lay in his cot, grinning at the tent roof. Joining the army, (sort of) fighting for the freedom of his nation, (ish) and one day in and he'd already made a friend!

Hercules Mulligan. John had learned that the other boy was a tailor's apprentice and that the two would be spying on the British. What an exciting opportunity! And maybe he'd be able to help his father out in some way.

Henry Laurens hadn't shown nearly the same level of enthusiasm, but John knew he was just surly about leaving the plantation. But hey, glory doesn't come from farming.

Rolling over onto his side, John snuggled down into the blankets. Tomorrow would surely bring just as much excitement and new faces.

* * *

Gilbert lay awake that night, going over in his head what John Miller had voiced. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. At home in France, the monarchy was cruel and unjust. Why should the fledgling country if America suffer the same plight? Yes. Tomorrow, he decided, he would drag Mr. Miller off to go inlist.

As soon as the matter was settled in his mind, Gilbert drifted off to sleep. Thoughts of revolution and glory did not leave his head.

* * *

Hercules groaned and shoved his head underneath the pillow. The tailor _snored._ LOUDLY. It was like a storm going off inside the tent. Flipping over onto his back, he stared at a stained area on the tent fabric. All hope of sleep should probably be abandoned.

He wondered if it technically qualified as murder to strangle someone for disrupting your peace of mind.

 **I am so incredibly sorry for the long wait and the short chapter. I'm just having a really rough time right now, so I hope you will all forgive me. I will try to update quicker, and the next chapter will definitely be longer. Please review, and if you have any ways to deal with stress please let me know. Thanks all. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	4. Almost All Together

**I'm back. I really don't deserve you all. You are too wonderful. Well, this is chapter four and I hope you all enjoy it!**

It had been an incredibly long and boring ride. At least the scenery was somewhat interesting to make up for the lack of action. Washington rode next to him, mostly silent as well, occasionally remarking about the land or the possible state of the army they were about to meet. But finally, finally after so long a wait, they were riding into the camp of the Continental army.

All around them, men paused in what they were doing to gawk up at the imposing figure on the stallion, and their gazes slid, confused, to the young man by his side. Of course they recognized the General, and they saluted. Cries of " _Here comes the General!"_ rang out around camp. Before long, rows of men standing at attention met them.

It was certainly not the most impressive sight Alexander had ever seen. The men were rather dirty, and far too many of them slouched over, with dull weaponry and that wasn't even brushing over their lack of sobriety. At least a third of the men were in some state of intoxication. This army needed work if they were ever to hold a fighting chance against the redcoats.

All this and more flashed through Alex's mind before he realized that Washington was addressing the gathered crowd. It was only when he heard his name that he was startled out of his reviere.

"...and this is Alexander Hamilton, he will be assisting me."

Alexander straightened a bit, trying to appear a bit more professional and hide his nerves from the soldiers assembled before them. A few men in the crowd chuckled.

Washington wheeled his horse around, and Alex took this as his cue to follow the General. The two trotted through the camp a little further, until they reached a cluster of tents that seemed to be set a little ways apart from the rest. This area was a little neater, with fewer drunken fools stumbling about. The men here stood straighter, and they were also considerably cleaner. The older man dismounted gracefully, in sharp contrast to Alexander's awkward descent.

As the General addressed these men, he took the time to gaze around. He immediately noticed two boys who looked to be about his age, standing behind two older men. One of them had poofy brown hair and freckles, the other, who was taller, with dark hair held back from his face by a strip of navy cloth. The former caught sight of his gaze, and elbowed the other, who grinned and waved. Alexander grinned back, bouncing slightly on his toes, hoping for a chance to meet the two.

He'd have to wait, however. Washington finished his speech, and grasped Alexander's shoulder, gently tugging him into one of the tents. Turning, he smiled down at the young man. "So, son, what do you think?"

Taking care to word his response respectfully, Alex said, "Um, I suppose that they could be neater, and more disciplined. Also less drunk." he added as an afterthought. Washington threw his head back and laughed, long and hard. "I knew I would like having you around. Yes, I agree completely. We will definitely have to do something about that. Although it might be harder to keep them from spirits."

Alexander flushed, but Washington only broke into a wider smile, clapping him on the shoulder. "If you're to be my new assistant, maybe you should go and get some rest. Tomorrow I expect your help, alright Alexander?" Nodding his consent, Alexander sat down on a cot. Hopefully there would still be time to meet some new people, though.

* * *

Hercules was truly blessed. Not only was he here, able to assist the revolution by getting to spy on the redcoats, but now he was standing outside his tent with John, the tailor, and John's father, a grumpy- looking man named Henry Laurens. And he was catching his first glimpse of General George Washington.

The man was very tall, and looked every bit the military leader atop his horse. He was one of those people who could convince you to obey any command with a single word or glance. And perhaps what shocked him the most was the fact that there was a boy riding beside him. He had dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and looked almost skittish, though he was definitely trying to hide it. As Hercules listened to the General talk, he watched the kid glance around, eventually catching John's eye. John, of course, elbowed Hercules, pointing at the new boy. Herc waved at him, and the kid grinned and waved back. Washington pulled the boy into his tent, but he could have sworn that the mystery kid threw a glance back over his shoulder.

John was buzzing. He danced around, laughing. "Hercules, can you believe it? _George Washington!_ And did you see the kid he brought with him? D'you think we'll get to meet him? I wonder if he's been travelling with the General for long? Maybe that's his son!"

He couldn't help but laugh. "John, relax. It was really cool to see him though. And I heard that the General didn't have any sons. I think that was his assistant or something." John shrugged. "Whatever his connection to Washington is, I hope he'll tell us. This camp gets better and better, I swear."

Laughing harder, Hercules followed John back into the tent he was sharing with his father. The tailor and Laurens had taken to talking long into the night, and Hercules and John did the same. Though they had not been allowed alcohol. Ah well, you can't have everything in life, he supposed.

The two sat on the beds, talking about the war, the General, and of course, whether or not they'd be able to be friends with the new kid. Both were incredibly excited to meet more new people, and hopefully more would be able to join them.

By the time the tailor returned to tell Hercules to sleep, accompanied by Henry, who had come to retrieve John, the boys were dead on their feet. The moon had long since risen, and the stars were bright in a cloudless sky. Laughter rang out among the tents, shadowed with drunken shouts. Hercules fell asleep not to the tailor's snores tonight, but to the tune of a rather badly sung drinking song.

* * *

Gilbert woke that next morning with the complete confidence that he'd be able to convince Miller to join the army. At breakfast, he brought up the matter again. "Monsieur Miller, perhaps today we could enlist, oui?" The man laughed. "Ah, Gil, you aren't one to forget, are you? Yes, I think we will. That is, if it's ok with you, Rebecca darling?"

Oh. Right. He had forgotten that Mrs. Miller might not be quite so keen for the two of them to fight in a war. Fortune was smiling upon him, however. Rebecca nodded. "I was wondering when you would ask, seeing as that's all you seem to talk about nowadays. I've had bags ready for you two for a week, in case you decided to depart." Suddenly fierce, she brandished her spoon at them. "You two go and make me proud, you hear?"

John Miller embraced his wife as Gilbert let out a whoop. Dashing up the stairs, he sped down the hall, snatching up his boots and coat, then thundering back down, hopping around as he attempted to put both on at the same time. Miller opened the door for him, grinning as he raced into the street, calling over his shoulder, " _A_ _llez allez! nous devons être rapides, pas de temps à perdre monsieur_!

A few people graced the steps of the makeshift enlistment office, but it still wasn't enough to prevent Gilbert from hurtling in the place at top speed. Speaking in rapid - fire French, he addressed the man at the desk. " _Oui! salut! Nous sommes ici pour rejoindre l'armée et combattre pour la liberté de cette nation! Où dois-je signer?"_

Thankfully for the poor clerk, John Miller followed Gilbert shortly after. Placing a placating hand on his shoulder, he smiled apologetically at the flustered man. "What my boy means to say is, we'd like to join the army and we were wondering where to sign up. The man nodded, looking relieved.

"Yes. Well, it might take a bit, but if you have the time to spare we can get you sent off to the very same camp that General Washington is at now, within a week."

Gilbert let out another ear- shattering whoop of excitement. The rest of the afternoon flew by, filled with paper, ink, signatures, and details of enlistment and agreements. But when the sun set on fateful day, both had officially sworn their loyalty to their new, fledgling country.

Rebecca greeted them both on the doorstep with a strong embrace. Looking up, Gilbert realized that she had tears in her eyes. "I'm so so proud of you two, going off to liberate this land. Now, don't you dare get yourselves killed."

Miller laughed. "Ah, don't you worry, dear. I wouldn't dare get myself killed, and frankly I think it would take a lot more than a redcoat's bullet to kill Gilbert here."

He shrugged. Miller wasn't wrong. The couple laughed, and led the way back into their home. Glancing back at the city, Gilbert found himself hoping that he'd be able to come back to it.

* * *

The morning dawned bright and warm. John Laurens sat bolt upright in bed, startling his father, who groaned and waved his hand, telling him that if he really must, to go and get whatever he was so happy about out of the way. John happily complied, shooting out of the tent, and bursting into Hercules's, who was pulling on his boots. Seeing John enter, he smiled. Straightening, he led the way out of the tent and into the hustle and bustle of the camp.

The two boys loped off towards the cooking fires, snatching up coffee and whatever food they could snag. The camp's cooks looked at them fondly and laughingly shook their fists at them. Strolling through the army camp, John chatted with Hercules while they ate. As they were approaching the General's tent, who should come stumbling out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but the boy they had seen last night.

Hercules pointed him out to John, who immediately raced over, startling the boy. "Hi! I'm John Laurens, and that's Hercules Mulligan." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Herc. "What's your name?" More questions would have followed, but Hercules lightly tapped his back, reminding him to take it slow.

The kid stuttered a bit, his dark hair in disarray, his brown eyes wide. "I- I'm Alexander Hamilton. It's nice to meet you, John Laurens and Hercules Mulligan."

John laughed, looping his arm through Alexander's. "You can just call us John and Hercules. Say, can we call you Alex?"

"Yeah, yeah sure." The poor boy looked terrified.

Hercules grinned. "Hey Alex, where are you from? John here is from South Carolina, and I'm from Ireland."

Alex relaxed slightly. "Well, I came to the camp from New York with General Washington, but I'm actually from the Nevis, in the Caribbean, even though I was raised on St. Croix, which is also an island from the Caribbean, but it doesn't matter because I'm never going back there. America is so much better."

John was slightly intimidated by the look that came over the new kid's face when he spoke of the islands. Nevertheless, he pushed on. "So, how did you come to be acquainted with the General?"

Blushing, Alexander responded, "Well, you see, it's a bit of an odd story-" He was cut off abruptly as the man in question walked out of the tent. "Alexander? Where, oh there you are. And who are you two?" He addressed John and Hercules.

Trying to look like a soldier, John bowed. "I'm John Laurens." Hercules added, "Hercules Mulligan, sir."

The General nodded. "Henry Laurens' son? And you're one of my spies, then?" He chuckled. Nodding, John felt secretly pleased that Washington had recognized his name. The man then turned to Alexander. "Come on then, Alex, I could use your help right about now. Have you ever written an official letter?"

Alex nodded, as John watched interestedly. As he watched, Alexander made to follow the General, but paused. He looked back at John and Hercules hopefully. "I'll see you later, then?" John nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! You come and find us as soon as you get the chance!" Hercules added, "Our tents are just right over there. We'll see you later, Alex!" Looking much happier, Alexander nodded and followed Washington.

John was practically bouncing. "Hercules, wow! We did get to meet him after all! Poor nervous kid, though. And Washington recognized us! How awesome is that?" Hercules laughed, and the two ran off, ducking around men and tents alike. As he ran, John thought of Alex and the budding friendship the three had formed.

 **Well, I did promise a quick update, did I not? It's not quite as long as I would have liked, but hey, better than last chapter, yes? Plus I thought that would be a nice spot to end on. I kid you not, I wrote this while listening to the soundtrack. Probably should have slept instead, but screw that. So three quarters of the Revolutionary Set is here, and up next, the trio will meet Lafayette. Please review, and if you'd like me to include anything for this next chapter, just let me know in the review section. Many of my stories come from inspiration you guys give me, so if there's something you want, just tell me! I have the honor to be your obedient servant, ~RedCoatsRedder**


	5. The Spy, The Scribe, and The Soldiers

**I'M BACK MES AMIS! Chapter five!**

Alexander stood next to Washington as he was shown the list of letters the General wanted him to write. Thankfully, it wasn't too long.

"I'm supposed to have a few aide de camps reporting for duty in a week or so, but I'd like to see what you can do, son."

"Can I go talk to John and Hercules when I'm done, sir?"

Washington chuckled at that. "Barely here for one night and already you've made friends. Sure. Just don't go getting yourselves into trouble, now." Blinking innocently, Alexander replied, "Why would I do that?" The General barked a laugh and waved him to the desk, placing a quill beside him.

Picking up a piece of parchment and glancing at the first item on the list, Alex's quill began to move across the page, line after line of script appearing in its wake. He continued working until he'd made it through the entire list. Placing the letters where Washington would be sure to see them, he ran his hand over his face, grinning. It felt good to help the war. Trotting out of the tent, he glanced around for John and Hercules.

They were standing over by a newly erected tent, talking with someone who stood a few inches taller than them. Curiously, Alex approached, saying, "Hey guys-"

He was cut off as John grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. "Alex! This is Gilbert. He just got here." The new boy, Gilbert, grinned. " _Salut! Ravi de vous rencontrer. Tu ressembles à un petit lion."_

Oh. So he spoke French. Well, so did Alexander. " _Bonjour. Je suis Alexander. Tu peux m'appeler lion."_

Gilbert laughed and hugged him. Shocked by the contact, Alexander stiffened but quickly relaxed. "Ah. You speak French! Good, almost no one in this place does."

Hercules slung his arm around Gilbert's shoulder. "Alex here is Washington's assistant. I'm a spy, and John wants to be a soldier." The French boy nodded. "I shall also be soldiering. Is that how you say? Your language is tricky, non?"

Alexander couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, it really is." The four walked through the camp, chatting happily, almost forgetting they were in the middle of a war.

Of course, forgetfulness comes with a price, and Alex cursed himself for not remembering that when he saw Washington, Henry Laurens, the tailor Hercules had accompanied, and a strange man he'd never seen before, but that Gilbert seemed to recognize. _Damn._ The older men looked both furious and relieved to see the boys approaching. Well, too late to turn back now.

Washington glared down at them. "Just where have you four been? Alexander, I expected better." The three men standing behind him nodded, showing their respective charges that they felt the same. Henry Laurens, for one, looked apoplectic. He grabbed John by the shoulder and practically hauled him away. Hercules and Gilbert were led off in a similar manner, leaving Alex alone with the General.

He squawked in a rather undignified way when Washington placed a hand on the small of his back, giving him a firm push into the tent. Great. He was really in for it now, wasn't he? Alexander bowed his head meekly, trying to appear abashed and scolded. For a moment, it almost seemed to work. Then Washington began to lecture him.

"Where on earth did you boys get off to? I come back and find you gone, with no explanation of where you went or what happened. And then I find out that your friends are also missing. We were worried sick, we thought you'd been kidnapped, or worse. Never _ever_ do that again, you understand?"

The man pauses for breath before continuing, "From now on I want you to tell me where you're going, and what you'll be doing. I would never forgive myself if you were attacked by redcoats."

Alexander doesn't quite know how to respond, so he settles for a nod and "Yes sir. Sorry, sir, I really didn't mean to worry you."

To his complete shock, Washington smiles slightly and ruffles his hair. The display of affection is unanticipated (although he finds that it is not entirely unwelcome) and he's almost tempted to shy away, but doesn't. "I know you didn't, son. Just don't do it again."

* * *

John knew that his father was livid the moment he saw his face peering over the General's shoulder. And he was one hundred percent right.

Henry Laurens dragged John into their tent by the shoulder. "What were you thinking? Running off through an army camp full of older men who could have easily thought you were a spy? And killed you? Jack, how would I bear that news back home? How would your mother and siblings feel if they found out you were dead?"

He hung his head, trying his best to look abashed. "I'm sorry, Dad. Really, I am. But I made friends! Really good friends, Hercules, Alexander and Gilbert! And we looked around the camp and everything! Please, we just want to help."

His father dropped his head onto the heel of his palm. "Jack, that's not the point. Great, you've found people to hang around with, but when the General approached me and that Miller man with the spy, inquiring as to your whereabouts, we were on the verge of panic realizing that none of us had seen hide nor hair of you four boys. And if you had been captured, you could have been tortured for information. You compromised not only your safety but valuable information pertaining to the war. From now on, your safety isn't just important to your family, but to the war effort. You need to tell me when you're going to go off somewhere, alright?"

John sighed internally. He felt bad for causing worry to his father and to the General and the others, but he didn't want to be minded like a little kid. However, he knew that arguing would not get him anywhere, so he nodded his head. "Yeah Dad. I will, promise." The elder Laurens sighed. "Good. Now, if you really want to, go out and see if you can find those boys. I suppose I should know that I can't expect you to sit still for the rest of the day."

Jumping at his chance to get out of the small tent, John bolts to the tent flap, calling over his shoulder, "Thanks, Dad! I'll be back by nightfall, for real this time." As he raced away, he could've sworn he heard a low laugh behind him.

Trotting to the spot where he and Hercules had met Gilbert just that morning, he was rather surprised to see the two there. John strode up next to the French boy, and not a minute later, Alexander joined them.

John studied them each anxiously. They looked fine, no worse for the lectures that they'd undoubtedly received as well. Gilbert was the first to speak. "Well, mon amis, I daresay that did not go as we intended?" He smirked.

Alexander doubled over laughing. "You think? Nah, it sure didn't. You guys are alright? I only got a very firm lecture from the General. What about you all?"

Hercules bobbed his head in agreement. "Same. Matthew was not pleased." Seeing their confused faces, he added, "You know, the tailor I'm apprenticed to." John and Gilbert relayed their own experiences.

"Oui, Mr. John Miller was angry at first, but it did not last long; he merely shook his head and told me I was a lot more than he expected, to never change, and what was he supposed to tell Rebecca if I die? Rebecca is his wife, by the way. I'm living with them until I'm older."

"Yeah, Dad was pretty much the same. Except he yelled at me a lot more. We probably scared them pretty bad though."

Alexander flipped a rock over with his foot. "I think we did. Let's try not to do that again, cause I sure don't wanna get lectured again."

A bell tolled from across the camp, and all four turned their heads in unison. "Lunch." Gilbert supplied. Mr. Miller poked his head out of the tent he and Gilbert used, saw them, and laughed.

"Go on ahead, boys. Alexander, John, Hercules, I'll be sure to let everyone know where you've gone."

"Thank you Monsieur!" Gil shouted as they dashed away.

John grinned. There was almost nowhere he'd rather be than right here. The adventure of a lifetime.

* * *

Hercules hadn't meant to worry Matthew. Really. But hey, sometimes things happen. Fortunately, the tailor was pretty forgiving. After a stream of fast, loud words paraded out of the man's mouth, he sighed and clapped Hercules on the shoulder. "Never do that again, I'm just glad you're alright."

He had listened to his friends recount their own experiences, each sounding similar to his. Now, they sat together on a grassy slope, eating whatever it was that the camp's cooks had made out of the meager rations.

John and Alexander were attempting to help Gilbert with his English. Hercules swallowed and remarked, "Anarchy, Gil, not onarchy."

"Ah. Yes. Thank you, mon ami." Gilbert nodded, and pronounced the word again, still managing to butcher it.

The other three boys groaned teasingly. The rest of the afternoon flew by. Gilbert managed to learn a bit more English, and in return he and Alexander tried to teach some French.

"No, no, no. It's _oui_ , not _eeee."_

"Now I understand your struggles, Gil."

Later in the afternoon, General Washington collected Alexander and John's father came to fetch him, leaving Hercules alone on the hillside with Gilbert. The French boy lay on his back in the grass, staring up at the clouds.

"It's odd, isn't it. How one person can have control over an entire nation of people. And how it's their own word that keeps them that way."

"Yeah, I've never really thought about it before now. But that's why we're fighting this war, isn't it? To prove that we don't need a monarch to rule, and we can be free?"

Gilbert flopped over onto his stomach, his fingers running over the blades of grass. "You, Hercules Mulligan, are very wise."

"That's me," Hercules joked. "Come on, let's go see if Alex is done, and then we can find John. Maybe we can sneak out tonight."

The two races back across camp, threading in between tents and knocking over more than one pissed- off soldier.

No one in the camp would have it any other way.

* * *

Gilbert had definitely made the right choice. He and Mr. Miller had barely arrived in the camp and gotten settled than he had met two boys his age. John Laurens, a boy with poofy brown hair and green eyes, and Hercules Mulligan, tall, dark- haired, and slightly intimidating but with a very kind personality. And Alexander Hamilton, who had joined them shortly after. Long brown hair, dark eyes. He had learned that Hercules was a spy, Alexander a writer, and John was in Gilbert's situation. That is, both wanted to fight. Gilbert got the sense that Alexander and Hercules did too, but for now were content with the positions they held.

And then the four had gone off, exploring. Which had not been to the pleasure of their guardians.

And so Gilbert had been lectured by John Miller for the first time. Mostly, the man seemed relieved that he was fine, and from their stories, so did his new friend's guardians.

That afternoon had been one of the best he'd ever had. Lunch, English lessons, and he and Alexander had taught a bit of French in return.

Then, he was suddenly alone with Hercules Mulligan. Laying in the grass on his back, he thought about monarchy, power, and the cost of war.

"It's odd, isn't it. How one person can have control over an entire nation of people. And how it's their own word that keeps them that way."

The statement surprised him. Judging by the silence, it had surprised Hercules too. So when he responded it was rather gratifying.

"Yeah, I've never really thought about it before now. But that's why we're fighting this war, isn't it? To prove that we don't need a monarch to rule, and we can be free?"

Gilbert allowed a small smile to play across his features. Hercules was very wise. Rolling onto his stomach, he said so.

Hercules laughed, and he joined his laughter to the other boy's.

As they ran together across the camp, laughter ringing out around them from the soldiers, as if the war was not looming over them. Gilbert wondered if it was wise to laugh in such dark times, and realized that it was something much needed.

Their friends emerged from a bend, Alexander's laughter mingling with John's, and the two ran up.

"Where'd you have to go off to?" Hercules inquired.

"Well, the General got a bunch of letters from the idiots at Congress, and he wanted to see what I thought. I thought that they were fools, and said so. He told me that I could say that if I could make it less obvious, and he felt the same way. So I wrote a letter and said the men at Congress had their brains flying at half mast. It even took Washington a moment to figure out, but he gave me permission to send it." Alexander looked smug.

They burst out laughing. "Petite lion, I wish I could see their faces." Gilbert grinned.

John sighed, "My father just wanted to make sure I wasn't getting in anyone's way. So I spent a nice long boring time sitting in our tent."

Hercules made a sympathetic sound. "Hey, Gil and I are planning to sneak out tonight. See what happens around here hen the sun goes down."

Gilbert hadn't realized he was being serious, but the other two cheered, looked around, and cheered quieter.

A plan was forming in his mind, so he tugged the others off to the side, whispering. This would be fun.

 **Done! So, the Rev Set has met Lafayette! And he is a military genius. Sorry, I hate cliffhangers but this next chapter needs planning. I'll try to update once a week at least, and this is probably going to be a pretty long fic. Your obedient servant, ~RedCoatsRedder.**


	6. Telling Our Stories

**Welcome back! Chapter six is up and running.**

Gilbert pulled the others into the shadow of a nearby tent. "So, here's what we're gonna do. We wait until everyone falls asleep. Now, Mr. Miller goes to bed earlier than most, and sleeps like death."

Alexander stifled a laugh. "Gil, he sleeps like _the dead,_ not death."

Waving his hand, Gilbert responded, "Same thing. So,Hercules, you said your tailor snores? Good. That makes it harder for him to hear you leaving. John, Alexander?"

John nodded. "My father can't handle much alcohol, so he'll probably get drunk and collapse for the night pretty quickly."

Alex, however, looked worried. "The General doesn't get drunk that I know of, and he works long into the night, so I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to manage this."

Fortunately, Gilbert had planned for this eventuality. "Do not fret, petite lion, I have the answer, like always. You retire first, and make a point of how late it is. Then, pretend to fall asleep quickly. Hopefully Washington will catch your meaning and retire soon after. If not, then we can find some sort of sleeping powder."

The scandalized expression that came over Alexander's face was priceless. "GILBERT! I am most certainly NOT drugging Washington! He'd kill me!"

John and Hercules nearly burst into tears, they were laughing so hard. As soon as Hercules could catch his breath, he spoke, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye.

"Let's just pray that it doesn't come to that. And we'll need to be doubly careful, I doubt they'd be so forgiving again if we were caught." _True words_ , Gilbert thought. _We would almost certainly be in deep trouble if they were to see us roaming around at night._ "Yes. Well, we will just tread lightly then."

Alex nodded his assent, though if his chewing on his lip was any indicator, he was still working out how to sneak past the General. Petite lion was smart, he'd be fine. Crouching down, Gilbert grabbed a stone, ready to start drawing a map out in the dirt. John too, sat beside him, saying "We should pick a meeting spot, so we can hide out while we wait for the others, out of sight of the soldiers."

"There's a little shadowed area created by a cluster of tents just behind Alex's. We could use that, since it's pretty hidden and no one will see us unless they walk right into us, or if they shone a light at us." Hercules volunteered.

Gilbert beamed. "Perfect, mon ami. That is where we shall meet. Be there as soon as you can get out, and make no sounds. Stand absolutely still. Then, we can go and look around!"

The other three boys smiled and nodded, each wondering about the night life of a war camp. Each stood up, dusted themselves off, and headed to their various tents. For one, it would be back to the desk, and one would be planning an expedition into enemy territory, and two continued to plot that night's adventure.

Sitting on his bed, Gilbert reflected on the conversation. He was a little worried about Alexander's ability to get past Washington without being caught. And, it suddenly occurred to him that they had not thought to plan their re-entrance to the tents. They would have to...what was the expression? Ah, that's right. They would have to wing it.

* * *

Night came, and Alexander took a deep, albeit shaky, breath. Standing up, he pushed his chair back and turned to Washington, trying for a casual tone of voice. "Sir, if you don't mind, might I go to sleep? It really is quite late."

Washington looked up from the letter he was reading, a concerned frown on his face. "Yes, do. I hadn't noticed the time, Alex. My apologies."

Rushing to reassure him, Alexander shook his head. "No, sir, I was just caught up and lost track of the time." He lay down on his cot, and closed his eyes, trying to force his breathing to slow and thus make it appear that he was sleeping. It must have worked, because after a few minutes he heard Washington rise, and his footsteps came closer, before they stopped at the side of his bed. Alex's breathing hitched, but only for a moment. He felt a hand on his head, brushing over his hair, stroking it behind his ear. The General's voice was barely a whisper, but he caught it.

"Goodnight, my boy. My dear, clever boy. You're going to do great things. Someday, you'll blow us all away."

Alex heard the elder man settle on his own cot, heard his breathing shift to slow and deep, and was overwhelmed with sudden gratefulness and ….longing? What for? And he felt guilty for betraying the General's trust. But his curiosity got the best of him, and he slipped out of bed, carefully picking his way around the furniture, doing his best not to make any noise.

The night air was cool against his face as he slipped between the tent flaps and treaded quietly across the grass to their chosen meeting place. Hercules and John were already waiting, mere silhouettes against the darkness.

"Alex! There you are, we didn't expect you for much later. Did you drug the General after all?" John teased.

He straightened indignantly. "Of course not, John. I merely persuaded him to sleep, as Gilbert suggested. You'll find I can be quite persuasive."

John raised his eyebrows. "Why don't we find out?" He was cut off when Gilbert suddenly darted into the dark space, panting.

"Sorry, mon amis, Mr. Miller was up late reading, the one night I want him to actually go to sleep. Ah, Alex! You are here sooner that we anticipated. Did Washington decide to sleep early tonight?"

"Yep. Now that we're here, what are we going to do?"

Gilbert grinned at him devilishly. "We're going to see what happens around here once the sun goes down."

Alexander had to hand it to the soldiers. They certainly knew how to get their hands on drinks.

Men sat clustered around fires, laughing, bottles in their hands, telling jokes and sharing stories from their homes. The air rang with the sounds of drinking songs, clinking glasses and bottles, crackling fires, and drunken laughter and shouts.

The four boys crept around the tents, skirting the clusters of people, avoiding the firelight so no one would catch a glimpse of their faces and report back to their guardians. Hercules ducked around severely intoxicated soldier and snagged a bottle of whiskey. He grinned at them. "Cheers."

Sitting in the shadow of a copse of trees, they opened their stolen bottle, passing it around and laughing, careful not to drink too much; a hangover would definitely be noticed tomorrow morning. Gilbert regaled them with tales of France, and John shared stories about his past in South Carolina. Hercules told them about ridiculous people who'd come into the tailor's shop, and finally they turned to Alexander, eyes shining expectantly. "Tell us about the Caribbean." John prompted.

Alexander swallowed. His past was difficult to talk about. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"So, I was born on the Nevis, but my family moved to St. Croix. I had an older brother named James, he was named after my father. My father…..he was drunk a lot, and he had a lot of debt. So, one day when I was about seven or eight, he- he just left. And that was the last I saw of him. James went out and got a job, and we didn't see much of him. So it was just me and my mother. We were pretty poor, but we got on okay." He licked his lips and continued.

"Until we got sick, that is. I think it might have been yellow fever. We didn't have the money to afford much medicine. I was getting better, but she was just slipping away. I begged for her to hang on, to keep fighting, but her health had been deteriorating for a while. And one morning, I woke up feeling better, and I tried to shake her awake, but she didn't stir. Her skin… it was cold, and her eyes, dull."

"So, I moved in with my cousin, Peter. It, well it wasn't much of a better situation. Peter tried his best, but I think it was just too much for him. I came into his room one day, and his body was hanging from the ceiling. He'd committed suicide. And my life was thrown into turmoil once again."

"I got a job as a clerk, and I was pretty good at it. My employer put me in charge of a trading charter. And I ran sugar cane, and other products I could never hope to afford. The worst part was handling the slave trade. Those poor people….. I wish I had the power to help them, but I couldn't do much. But it wasn't the worst times. I was able to get my hands on a few books, and I read whenever I got the chance."

"Of course it was too good to last, and I really should have known that. The hurricane came. It was absolutely awful. The rain and wind whipped the trees and tore at the buildings. Then, it just stopped. We went outside, to look around. There was destruction everywhere. In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet, for a moment. A yellow sky. The storm's eye passed over, and it resumed with vengeance. Water flooded the town, sweeping away buildings, trees, and people. When it stopped for good, it was awful. A suffocating quiet. Rubble everywhere. Bodies. The few survivors were slowly drifting around, trying to salvage whatever they could of their lives."

"I wrote about it, the horror of that storm. And I looked up, and the town had its eyes on me. They collected funds to send me here, to America, so I could get an education. And that's how I got here. I met Washington when I accidently startled his horse, and he saved my life. That's my life story." he finished.

His friends gazed back at him in shocked silence. Suddenly, John moved forward, and hugged him. "God, Alexander, I'm so sorry."

* * *

John had had a grand time dashing around the camp in the dark, and swigging from the bottle of whiskey Hercules had snagged. They had traded stories from their pasts, and he'd told them a few stories of South Carolina, the best of which being the ball he'd been forced to attend, and where he'd accidentally soaked a lady's ball gown with wine.

Gilbert had shared stories of France, Hercules stories from the tailoring business. Then, Alexander. "Tell us about the Caribbean." John had said. And so he did.

The three had listened in rapture and fascination at first. But then, as Alex told them about all the horrors of his past, their excitement had faded to pity and horror. How could such a small person bear the sadness of a lifetime? It wasn't fair that Alexander had to suffer like that. When he finished, they sat there in shock and silence. John roused himself enough to crawl next to Alex and hug him. "God, Alexander, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, John really. Why are you apologizing, it's not like you could have done anything about it." No. NO. It wasn't okay.

"Alex, no one should have to carry such a burden." Hercules looked almost heartbroken. Looking at the other two, John realized that they had been just as affected by the story as he had. Gilbert's eyes were actually shining with tears.

" _Mon petit lion, mon brave petit lion, tu t'es battu si fort pour arriver ici, c'est un miracle que tu sois vivant."_

Alexander blinked a few times. "Yeah, Gil, I guess it really is a miracle."

The four sat in silence for a few minutes, until Alexander spoke again. "I may not live to see our glory, but I will gladly join the fight. And when our children tell our story, they'll tell the story of tonight." He smiled at them.

John drew a shaky breath, stood, and raised the glass he'd been holding. "Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away. Raise a glass to the four of us, tomorrow they'll be more of us."

Gilbert and Hercules joined in, singing the lines to the old drinking song. "Raise a glass to freedom!"

They broke into smiles as wide as the heavens and bright as the moon above. In the dark, surrounded by soldiers, their voices barely carried at all.

The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east when John slid back into his cot, next to a very drunk Henry Laurens. Hoping that the others had managed to sneak back into their beds safely, he listened for any sounds of shouting from the nearby tents. Nothing. Smiling at the memories of their night out, he tugged the blanket up to his chin, preparing to get whatever sleep he could before his father shook him awake.

* * *

Hercules lay on his back in the tent he shared with Matthew, listening to the man snore. Of course he was snoring again. He wondered if the only way to get sleep around here would be to sleep outside. Maybe he could ask if he could share Gilbert and Mr. Miller's tent.

That had been the best night of his life, and a grin spread across his face, knowing he'd cherish these memories for a very long time. Sharing stories, drinking whiskey. For him and Alex, it had been their first time trying the drink, and they'd rather liked it. Fortunately, they were smart enough not to drink too much. A hangover would certainly be hard to explain the next day. He'd told them all about the interesting customers they got in the shop, his favourite of which was the woman who'd dumped a bundle of blue feathers onto the counter, saying she wanted them put on the sleeves of a rather ugly gown in a shade of mustard yellow. She'd been rather pleased with the results, but he and Matthew had laughed for weeks about it.

And Alex's story. Oh, that poor kid. His life seemed to be one tragedy after another. How could he bear so much sadness and struggle?

They'd sung that old drinking song together, about freedom and camaraderie. It was war, but a moment of light in the darkness is always welcomed. He turned onto his side and shoved his head under the pillow to muffle the snoring from the tailor. Sleep would be a very long time coming.

 **Done! So I have received ship requests. The three options I have so far are Lams, Hamlaf, and Mullette. Review with your two favourites and I'll see what I can do for upcoming chapters. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	7. Burr, British, and Skeletons in Corsets

**So the ship status is going to develop later on in the story. I won't say any more until then. :) Chapter seven!**

It had been almost a month and Alexander's life in the war was going just fine. That is, until he met Aaron Burr.

The General had several aides, most of whom were kind and intelligent men. Tench Tilghman, who was grumpy but could be pleasant, Henry Meade, who used to be a doctor, and was always bright and happy, were the two that Alex interacted with most. And then he had met Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Burr.

The man was impossible to figure out, which he had learned soon after meeting him for the first time, as he was passing by Washington's tent.

Burr had graduated from college in two years, which was exceptional. Alexander wanted to know how he did it, so he approached the older man. "Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?"

The man snapped the book he was reading shut, and gazed down at him with a mix of apprehension, amusement, and disdain. "That depends, who's asking?" Their conversation had progressed politely, yet Alexander was left with a rather negative image of the man. When he had expressed his desires to do what Burr had done, the man smiled, patted his shoulder, and told him to "talk less, smile more." Since when did _smiling_ have any impact on history? No, legacies were made by those who spoke out for their beliefs, Alex was sure of it.

He had left that conversation bristling. Washington picked up on his stormy expression as he watched his youngest (unofficial) assistant slump in his chair. "Now what trouble have you gotten yourself into?" he teased the young boy.

Alexander straightened indignantly. "I didn't do anything! It wasn't me this time, I swear!"

Washington laughed. "Well, if it wasn't you, then who was it? The Laurens boy, perhaps? Or Gilbert, or maybe the young tailor, Hercules?" Alex scowled and glared at the floor, nudging dirt around with the toe of his boot. "That Burr man is strange."

To his surprise, the General did not immediately reprimand him for insubordination, insead interlocking his fingers and sighing. "He's difficult to figure out, and slow to act. I believe he prefers to wait it out, and then make a decision. But he is brilliant."

There was no denying that, of course. Burr would've had to be exceptional indeed to graduate so early. But waiting had never been Alexander's strong suit, and Washington could tell that the two had very conflicting personalities. He made a mental note to keep them as far apart as he could.

* * *

John was writing home to his family. Barely a month had passed since he and his father had left, but it felt like far longer. Speaking of his father, where did he go? It was hard to keep up with him in the midst of such a bustling place.

He had just sealed his letter when Alexander came bursting in through the tent flaps, throwing himself down onto a bed and beginning a rant about a man named Aaron Burr, who he'd apparently met this morning.

"And quite frankly I'm sure he doesn't know how to take any action whatsoever. If he keeps it up like this he's going to miss all of the opportunities life throws his way. And that would be a shame, I guess."

John leaned back, grinning. "You _guess?_ Do you wish misfortune upon him already? Is he that bad?"

His jibe earned a glare from Alex, who groaned, "Just you wait until you meet him, he's so hard to figure out, I just don't understand." With those words he flopped onto his back and stared at the roof of the tent, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips.

A mischievous smile slowly spread onto John's face, as he contemplated his course of action. Settling on a plan, he stood up from the desk at which he had been writing and walked over so he was standing at the foot of the bed Alexander was sprawled on. He vaulted onto the end of the mattress and snatched up a pillow, whacking Alex over the head with it. In retaliation, the other boy grabbed a pillow for himself and swung at John, who gleefully yelped, "Pillow fight!"

Hercules and Gilbert walked in a few minutes later, curious as to the loud shouting. Alex promptly chucked the pillow at them, sending it flying over Gilbert's head and landing with a _thwump_ on the floor. The rest of the afternoon passed in a happy daze of pillows, laughter, and shouting.

Also Henry Laurens. The man entered the tent to see his son and his three friends rolling around and waving blankets and pillows alike. They didn't notice his presence until he cleared his throat. Which was followed by a stern lecture about responsibility and acting your age. But it had really been one of the best times John had had with his friends. It was nice to forget the war sometimes, to forget the carnage and death that surrounded them all day, every day.

Because though their guardians had tried to keep them from seeing, the four boys did see wounded and ill soldiers lying in the medical tents as doctors rushed around, attempting to save them or to at least ease their discomfort in the last hours of their lives. War was hard, John knew that, but his father had always thought that glory was eternal, and he had passed that belief onto John.

They had been sent to go "burn off energy" as Mr. Miller had put it, and they were now trekking up the gentle slope to a forest trail that General Washington had advised they take. Alexander knew the way, and so they followed him through the grass until they reached a fencepost, marking the beginning of the footpath.

"We're here!" Alex called. "Just wait until you see this, it's so cool, there's even a little stream if you go down a ways. Maybe we can go swimming!" And with that he was off, racing down the path. Gilbert ran after him, "Petit lion, wait! Slow down!" He looked oddly panicky.

Turning to Hercules with a frown, John was surprised to see the color draining out of his friend's face, as he too began to dash down the path. Alex halted abruptly, and it was in that moment that John saw what had caused his friends to act in such a strange manner.

A group of redcoats, about a dozen strong, each mounted on horseback and coming down the trail. He caught glimpses of their horses' flanks and their own bright jackets through the leafy branches. Hercules, Gilbert, and Alex had ducked off the path, standing in the shadow of the trees, frantically gesturing for John to join them. As quietly and quickly as he could, he crept behind a large oak about a stone's throw from the other three.

It was not a moment too late. The party of enemy soldiers emerged into full view. And, God, they were intimidating. Swords swung at the hips of a few, and every man had a musket slung over his shoulder. The ominous group rode in near total silence, which was only broken by the horses' snorting and nickering. Even worse, they were riding in the direction of the rebel camp.

Without fully knowing what he was doing, John began to creep slowly after the redcoats. He could hear several hissed streams of air, probably his friends trying to stop him, trying to warn him that he would only be getting himself killed.

Surprisingly, Alex appeared at his side so suddenly it was as if he had just popped up there. His brown eyes were wide, worry creasing his face. Gil and Hercules joined them shortly. Alexander spoke in a whisper, "Here's the plan."

* * *

Gilbert snuck down the path, barely twenty yards behind the party of redcoats. In his hand, he gripped a large rock. Alexander's plan called for panic among the soldiers' ranks so they'd have enough time to slip ahead of the men and reach camp to sound the alarm. It was a brilliant but very risky maneuver, so of course Gil volunteered.

He decided to target a bay horse that kept eyeing the surrounding area nervously, as if it was expecting something to attack. He didn't want to hurt the horse, but if the lives of everyone back at camp were at risk he'd do whatever it took. Aiming carefully, he threw the stone so that it bounced off the horse's left flank.

Success. The animal shot forward suddenly, nearly knocking off its rider, and effectively spreading chaos through the ranks. The four boys concealed in the woods shot forward as well, beginning a mad dash back to the camp.

They stumbled into the General's tent not five minutes later, panting and out of breath. It was Alexander who spoke first. "My- my apologies, your Excellency," he panted, "but we- we were out walking, and- and we saw, through the trees, some British soldiers, armed and on horseback, about a dozen of them, sir, headed this way."

Washington shot to his feet, racing out of the tent, and they could hear him shouting for guards, warning them of the approaching danger. Gilbert took a moment to marvel at how completely Washington trusted Alex, not even questioning him, just knowing that he had been told the truth and immediately acting on it. A gunshot rang out, followed by more, yelling and screams could be heard.

It seemed to go on for eternity, and even though they hadn't been ordered to remain here, the four knew that it would be best if they stayed put. At last, the General pulled back the flap and beckoned to them. "You can come out, now. Let the redcoats see just who caused their mission's downfall." A ghost of a smirk crossed his face at that.

Gilbert stood between Hercules and Alexander as they surveyed the scene at the edge of camp. Seven of the attacking men had been killed, and thankfully only three rebel soldiers. The remaining redcoats stood with their hands tied, held at gunpoint by several of Washington's soldiers. One of the men was Mr. Miller, who had a cut across his forehead, but looked very determined. He relaxed a bit when he saw Gilbert, and inclined his head a bit to show he was okay.

Alex, however, stumbled backwards almost immediately. He ducked his face behind Hercules, who frowned and turned to ask him what was wrong. Before he could say anything, however, a voice rang out from the captured redcoats, gravelly and deep.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is. My favourite little bastard, Alexander Hamilton."

* * *

Hercules had just been grateful everyone he knew seemed to be alright. And yes, the scene was brutal, and it had been unfortunate to lose three men, but then Alex had tried to hide his face from the enemy soldiers. Why? He wasn't the type to be described as cowardly, and he never backed down. _Ever._ Herc knew that from experience.

Yet when his friend ducked behind him, he was perplexed. Turning to ask him what the matter was, he heard a loud voice calling out. "Well, well well. Look who it is. My favourite little bastard, Alexander Hamilton." A redcoat. Who somehow knew Alexander, knew about his past. How? It wasn't like Alex actually willingly shared his past with everyone he met, quite the contrary. Glancing up, he saw an expression of glacial fury spread over the General's face. Yet the man continued to speak.

"It's been a few years, what, you don't recognize me? Or are you playing dumb, in front of the army? Afraid of losing whatever meager status you've gained, you little traitor to the crown? How did you even manage to secure a position here? I mean, we knew that the Patriots were desperate, but I for one didn't think they were desperate enough to recruit some bastard from nowhere. What'd you have to tell them before they allowed you in? Or did they not know at all?"

By this point more than a few men on both sides were snickering, many of them shooting Alex disdainful looks. The redcoat continued to speak. "Tell us, how did you manage to get off that island anyway? Did you sell y-" A gunshot cut the sentence short, and the man collapsed, screaming, his leg bleeding. Hercules noted that the barrel of Washington's pistol was smoking, and he glared at the man on the ground with about as much compassion as a rock. "Deal with him, and the rest." he snapped. He then turned to Alex, reaching out as if to grab his shoulder. "Son…"

Alexander whirled away, screaming, " _ **DON'T CALL ME THAT!"**_ at the top of his voice, before he was pounding away through the camp, weaving among the tents, soon out of sight. Hercules stood shocked next to John and Gilbert, not quite sure what to do. One of Washington's aides, a man that Hercules recalled was named McHenry, approached the General. "Give him some time, sir. That was undoubtedly very upsetting to him, just let him calm down, he'll come around sooner or later." The General nodded absentmindedly, his gaze still fixed on the place where Alex had disappeared.

Gilbert stode forward, Hercules and John not more than a half step behind. "We've got to find him. I think I have a very good idea where he'll be."

Sure enough, Gilbert was right. Alexander sat hunched over at a desk in the aide- de- camp's office, quill scratching furiously as he wrote. Hercules grabbed his shoulder gently. "Hey, you know we don't care, right? Neither does the General. We still want you here. Don't think about that man, he's wrong."

"Oui, mon ami. No one is going to define you with your past. We all have, how you say, skeletons in the corset?" John laughed. "Gil, closet, not corset. And you're right. We all have stories we keep hidden, but we don't have to be embarrassed. Don't let it hurt you, Alex."

Their friend suddenly spoke up. "He was a sailor who made frequent stops at my family's home. A good friend of my father's, which is to say he's a real asshole. They got drunk a lot, and neither of them were particularly pleasant to be around, even when sober." His voice hitched, and he didn't continue.

Actions speak louder than words. The four boys stayed together for the rest of the evening, long after the sun went down, simply relaxing in each other's presence.

 **Chapter seven, out! Hope you enjoyed it. First interaction with enemy forces! *lets off sparklers* OKAY I STILL KINDA HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK, SOOOO HERE ARE MY CHOICES FOR THE UPCOMING CHAPTER:**

 **More Aaron Burr b) The Schuyler Sisters c) STEAL A CANNON.**

 **You guys decide! ~RedCoatsRedder**


	8. YO LET'S STEAL THEIR CANNON part 1

**Chapter eight! Thank you all so much I read your reviews and I appreciate them so much! Enjoy the chapter!**

It was well past midnight when Alexander crept back into the tent he was sharing with Washington. All was dark and silent around him. He pulled back the tent flap cautiously and slipped inside. Washington was sitting on the edge of his bed, back turned to Alexander.

He froze, unsure of what to do. Should he pretend like he couldn't see the General, and simply go to bed, or should he speak up and make his presence known? Fortunately, he didn't have to decide. Washington rose and turned around, freezing when he caught sight of Alex. For a long moment, neither moved or spoke. Then, Washington strode over to Alexander and wrapped him in a strong embrace.

He let out an undignified squawk and stiffened. The tension slowly ebbed out of him, and Alex cautiously returned the hug. Washington tightened his hold to the point of bone- crushing. "Sir..can't breath." Alexander gasped. The General loosened his grip but still kept his arms wound firmly around his boy.

Alex allowed his head to drop forward, the height difference causing it to settle on Washington's stomach. The older man cupped the back of his head gently with his hand, and rocked them side to side. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry." Alexander muttered over and over. "You didn't do anything wrong, son. Nothing at all." Washington hushed.

"But the redcoat-"

"What the redcoat said does not matter to me in the slightest, young man. It does not change one thing. If anyone in the camp has a problem with that, they can speak to me before they pack up and leave." Washington was adamant.

"But, people will talk, and -and…." Alex trailed off. Sure, the General said this now, but what about when the rumors started circulating? And they would, people always loved gossip. Washington would realize sooner or later, surely. How could he stand to keep him by his side? Except Washington still hadn't let him go, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that Alexander was real.

Alex allowed the older man to hold him for a few more minutes, until he started to feel awkward in the General's embrace. Wriggling out from under his arms, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over a chair, sinking down onto his cot.

Washington was smiling down at him with what was unmistakably relief and fondness in his expression. "Get some sleep, my boy. We're headed to New York City at dawn. Your friends are coming as well. A stand-off with the British is brewing, I'm afraid."

Shooting back to his feet in his excitement, Alexander's mouth was barely able to keep up with his mind. "Are we going to be allowed to fight? Are we riding or or we walking or maybe going by boat?" Washington pushed him gently back down. "Easy there, Alexander. No, we can't put you four in the line of fire, but we'll find something for you to do while you stay safe. And you'll just have to wait until tomorrow, so go to sleep, son." He chuckled.

Practically vibrating, Alex obediently lay back, but he still knew sleep would be a _very_ long time coming.

And he was right. He lay awake for what seemed to be hours, listening to the General work, his candle flickering as he read over the correspondences. Eventually he must have fallen asleep because he was woken sometime before dawn by Washington's hand on his shoulder. "Time to get up, son."

A few minutes later and he was rubbing sleep from his eyes as he followed Washington outside. Alex shivered and pulled his coat tighter around himself. He and his friends had altered Patriot uniforms (well actually Hercules did most of the work, the rest of them were hopeless with a needle and thread.)

Most of the men were already assembled. As he mounted his horse, Alex scanned the crowd, looking for Gilbert, Hercules, and John. He saw Gilbert first, his poofy hair standing out amongst the soldiers. Hercules was near the back, with the tailor. John and his father were approaching the group, quickly swinging themselves up onto their own steeds.

Alexander was, of course, expected to remain by the General's side, so he and his friends waved quickly before they turned back around to listen to Washington as he addressed them. "...and we will need to have adequate time to prepare fortifications, so we will ride fast and stop little. Understand, men?" A chorus of "yes sir"s rang out.

And with that, the army was off.

Washington rode mostly in silence, though he did turn to Alex from time to time and smile, as if he wanted to make sure that the boy hadn't disappeared into the wind. He grew sore from sitting in the saddle after a while, as Alexander wasn't really used to riding for this long. But as the hours ticked on, signs appeared. Finally, finally after so long, they crested a gentle rise and were looking down into the city of New York.

* * *

The news that he was to take part in an actual fight against the British came as a bit of a shock, accompanied by much excitement, to John. So now, as they stood with the entire city of New York spread out beneath them, the feelings of excitement grew, though they were now tainted a bit with nerves.

As soon as they were near enough to the city to properly defend it, earthworks were constructed and temporary sleeping quarters set up. John was leaning against his shovel, taking a quick break, when Alexander and Gilbert ran up to him, eyes shining.

"John!" Alexander called out happily. "We've been looking for you everywhere! Guess what? Hercules went off on his first scouting mission with the tailor! We saw them leaving and then Mr. Miller told us where they were going."

"Really?" John grinned. "Lucky Herc! That sounds infinitely better than digging all day."

Gilbert grabbed two nearby shovels and tossed one to Alex. "We're here to help you. That's what the General told us to do, anyway. He said, 'Go help with the defenses, boys.' So here we are! How can we help you, mon ami?"

In the end, the three boys were just asked to keep out of the older mens' way, as the very grumpy captain kept telling them that they weren't doing it properly. They ended up sprawled in the grass behind Gil's tent, waiting for a command of some sort.

John flipped over onto his stomach, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the blades of grass. "Do you think we'll get to take part in any actual fighting?" he questioned. Alex sighed.

"No. Washington told me last night that we wouldn't be able to be in the line of fire. I think they want us to stay alive. But he did say that we would be able to help in some way, but we have yet to find something that we can be helpful in." He sighed again.

"Well that sucks." Gilbert put in.

"Ever so eloquent, aren't you?" John teased. The French boy responded by rolling on top of him so that John sputtered. "Who's the eloquent one now, mon ami?" he chirped. "Still not you." he grumbled. Alex moved so he was sitting next to the pair, eyes shining with mischief. "Now, now, we all know that _I'm_ the real master of words here." Exchanging a glance, John and Gilbert tackled him. They lay in the grass, rolling around and their laughter carrying into the camp, where the soldiers who heard it smiled softly, shaking their heads.

Hours later, they were gathered around a fire, eating. John was sitting next to his father, who had spent the afternoon putting up defenses and was too tired to engage in any conversation, so he spoke with Alexander, Gilbert, and Mr. Miller, who was very friendly. And social. And talked almost as much as the boys did. Everything was fine, peaceful, even.

And then a shadow suddenly burst out of the surrounding darkness. Henry Laurens was so shocked he fell right over backwards, Alex jumped, and Gilbert let out a screech. John leapt to his feet, brandishing the fork he had been using. The shadow doubled over laughing.

"Okay...okay I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you guys, but oh my god. Your reactions….." Hercules continued to laugh, and the four other boys joined in, a smile even breaking across Mr. Miller's face. "And sorry, Mr. Laurens." the tailor's apprentice added. Laurens senior straightened, grumbling under his breath as he brushed himself off.

John slid over to clear room for Hercules on the bench. "How did your scouting mission go? Was it cool? Did you see many redcoats?" he questioned. The other boy grinned. "Great, yes, and yes. In fact, we saw about thirty-two thousand of them." He was suddenly solem. "It looks like Howe's got plans to take this city."

Well, of course he would. New York was a bustling economic hub in the colonies. It was incredibly diverse, and it seemed that a bit of everywhere in the world could be found in the city. It made sense that the British would want control of New York. All the more reason to defend the city.

Gibert suddenly leaned forward. "Mon ami, what of the tailor? Is he alright?" Hercules nodded. "Matthew's fine. He just went to give a report to General Washington. He should be joining us soon." As if summoned by their words, the tailor suddenly plopped down beside Henry Laurens, who again choked on his drink, but not nearly as badly as when Herc had startled him. John suppressed a small smile. It shouldn't have been amusing to see his father like this, but it was. His father did seem a little more relaxed away from the plantation, or maybe the drink was talking a bit. Either way, it was nice.

John, Gilbert, and Alexander pressed Hercules and Matthew for the details of their expedition. The two shared a look and began to recount their tale.

 **I know this is far shorter than most chapters but I feel like I've made you guys wait too long so here it is plus this one is going to be super dramatic and I'm excited for it so please if you don't mind waiting a bit longer, I promise that the second part of this chapter will be posted before this time next week. Yr Obedient Svt. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	9. YO LET'S STEAL THEIR CANNON part 2

**Part two! Thanks for waiting. I hope you enjoy this!**

Hercules sat next to John and Mr. Miller. Everyone leaned forward eagerly, evidently excited to hear about the mission. Matthew began.

"Well, the General told us about the plan. He said that we needed to get an idea of British forces and defenses. So we changed clothes to blend in with the civilians, see? And we posed as tailors, which wasn't too hard considering that's our profession." He chuckled. Matthew continued to recount the events of their mission, with Hercules chiming in wherever he could.

It had been a little nerve racking at first, especially when a redcoat had stopped them to ask a few questions. Apparently the British were on edge as of late. They'd been allowed to continue on, and had gone into a local tavern which was, of course, packed to the rafters with soldiers in red uniforms.

They had asked a few casual questions, trying to gain an idea of the army's positions and numbers, but still sound like they could be just ordinary civilians. Matthew had done most of the talking, as Hercules was still a little doubtful of his own ability to remain calm under the crossfire of questioning that they would be sure to receive whenever one spoke to a British soldier. Of course, it had been easier when the men were drunk, and the tailor discreetly kept the drinks coming. After that, it had been like water flowing from a jug. Positions, numbers, fortifications, and more came spilling out of the intoxicated mens' mouths. Almost too easy.

Yet, they had escaped back out of the city and made their way back to camp without being questioned or stopped by anyone. A stroke of good luck, perhaps. Hercules was pleased to see that Alexander, John, and Gilbert were listening with evident rapture on their faces at the thrilling story.

"Ah, Mr. Williams, Mr. Mulligan. Good work. This is valuable knowledge that we've gained, and it will be sure to help us in the upcoming battles." General Washington smiled at the group. Everyone jumped to their feet, saluting. "Sir!"

"Will you come with me now, Alexander? I require your assistance in a few matters, and it is getting rather late. I would like to conclude this before midnight."

"Yes, sir." Alex strode forward to stand at Washington's side, waving back at his friends. "Bye, guys. See you tomorrow?"

Gilbert nodded. "Tomorrow, mon ami." The tailor rose to his feet, stretching a bit. "Hercules, we ourselves should go off and try to get some rest. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and it would be best if we are well- rested. Goodnight, gentlemen." He inclined his head at the remaining members of their party.

He and the tailor ducked inside their tents, not speaking for a moment as they bustled around getting ready for bed. Hercules collapsed onto his cot, yawning. Matthew glanced over at him, looking serious, which was rather unlike him. He was usually very light- hearted and smiled frequently. Hercules sat up, looking at him curiously.

"I just wanted to say that you did very well today, Hercules. We are still alive, which is always good when you work in this line of business. And we have gathered some valuable information. So, all in all, I just want to say good work, and that you seem to have a very successful future ahead of you in espionage."

Speechless in the face of unexpected praise, Hercules could only nod his gratitude, still going over the compliments in his mind as they fell asleep.

Weeks passed. And then, almost out of nowhere, the battle began. The rumor has it had started with a single shot, in the streets, fired carelessly or on accident. No matter the cause, Washington's men found themselves plunged suddenly into a conflict with Howe's forces in New York City.

And this was how Hercules found himself crouched away from the action with his three friends, listening to the sounds of the battle and Alexander's worried mutterings.

"They're battering down the battery, check the damages…." he winced as more cannon fire bombarded the fortifications the rebels had constructed around the city. "We've got to stop them, and rob them of their advantages." Gilbert pointed at the cannons the British had set up in the distance. "Therein lies their advantage."

Alex's eyes lit up. Hercules felt a stirring of excitement and some worry. His friend had a plan, and it would either assist them greatly or get them all killed.

"Let's take a stand with the stamina God has granted us, Hamilton won't abandon ship!" Now he was practically vibrating with excitement. "LET'S STEAL THEIR CANNON!"

Well, Hercules hadn't been wrong.

* * *

Halfway to the object of their mission, Gilbert was beginning to think that they were a little underprepared. Alexander had explained their plan to capture the British weapons, and they had procured the necessary supplies, those supplies being guns, ammunition, and ropes. Now they were sneaking through the city, trying to avoid both sides of the conflict.

They had settled on a cannon that was rather separated from its fellows, and even on the best of days, the soldiers stationed at the other weapons would have lacked focus indeed if they were to notice the other disappearing. But now, smoke from fire billowed across the city, the sky was dark grey and the air hung heavy with ash. All of this was to their advantage, though it was rather difficult to breathe.

Everything was running smoothly, until they were spotted by one of the redcoats manning the cannon. He shouted to his fellows. "HEY! WE'VE GOT SOME-" he couldn't finish. Well, Gilbert thought, he couldn't exactly say they were _soldiers,_ now could he? For they were definitely too young for that. But if he said boys, his comrades might be less willing to fire upon them. Gilbert decided to spare them that decision and took aim quickly.

The gun went off with a _bang._ Alexander, John, and Hercules followed suit, firing rapidly. The enemy went still.

Hurrying up to the cannon, Gilbert turned away from the bodies of the British soldiers, feeling guilt well up in his throat. Hercules swallowed and clapped a hand on his back. "I know, man. It doesn't feel right. But, well, it's a war." He looked away. John buried his head in Alexander's shoulder.

A moment of silence passed. Then the boys sprang back into action, wrapping ropes around the base of the cannon and the barrel. Gilbert hurried to the back with Alex, throwing themselves against it, causing the gun to roll forward slightly. John and Hercules tugged on the ropes. Between them, the heavy weapon moved slowly.

It was tough going. Rocks caught under the wheels, and they had to make sharp turns to avoid squadrons of British and rebel soldiers alike. The streets, filthy with trash, dirt, and ashes, caused pulling the cannon over them like tugging it through snow. The city was dark, no candles shone from the window of houses, the only light being the flickering flames from burning buildings. Gilbert growled and rammed his shoulder against the cannon again. Next to him, Alexander walked backward slowly as he dug his heels into the ground for traction.

He could hear John and Hercules panting as they hauled on the ropes. Finally, after what felt to be days of dragging the weapon, they arrived at the edge of camp. It, too, was dark. No fires blazed out from among the tents, no lights as the men wrote letters, or the aides answered correspondence. At least it was quiet, too. The camp was free of gunshots and the scream and shouts of the dying and wounded. Cresting the gentle rise, the boys paused to catch their breath.

John looked nearly buoyant. "We did it! We stole a cannon, and we didn't die. Except…" he suddenly looked nervous. "We kind of disobeyed the direct order to not go near the line of fire."

"Well, technically we didn't." Alexander objected. "We skirted around the firing." Gilbert couldn't contain a snicker. Alex could argue his way out of any situation. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, and sleep suddenly seemed like a very good idea to him. "Let us return to our beds, and deal with the consequences of our actions later." The other three nodded. Without another word they turned and headed to their respective tents to catch what little sleep they could before morning light.

A bird's chirping woke Gilbert the next morning. Sunlight streamed through the gap in the tent flaps, accompanied by confused shouting. John Miller stuck his head inside the tent, looking dirty and tired, but very much alive. A flood of relief that Gilbert hadn't really anticipated swept over him. "Gil, you'd better come out here. There's something you need to see."

Gilbert quickly found Hercules, John, and Alex, and they stood together in a small huddle in the middle of the crowd of soldiers before the cannon they had stolen the previous night. General Washington came storming out into the space, bellowing, "What is the meaning of this?" before he caught sight of the cannon. "And where did this come from?"

One of his men spoke up quietly. "We- we don't know, sir. It just appeared, here, out of nowhere." A strange look came over Washington's face. "I see. Alexander Hamilton, come here this instant."

Alex slipped out of the crowd, taking his place by Washington's side. "Do you have any idea where this cannon came from, young man?" The General loomed over the boy, and Gilbert wanted to shout out that it hadn't just been him, that all four of them had taken part in it, but to do so would reveal their late- night expedition, so he kept his mouth shut. Glancing around, he saw realization begin to dawn on the faces of Henry Laurens and Mr. Miller, as well as Hercules' tailor.

"Well?" Washington prompted. Alex nudged the dirt with his boot. He swallowed, and took a breath, looking as he was trying to gather his courage. "Sir…"

"It wasn't just Alex." John blurted out, earning a sharp glare from his father. Alex though, gave him a grateful look, before starting again. "We….kind of accidentally stole a cannon from the British." He would not meet the General's eyes and toed the dirt some more.

Washington gave him an incredulous look. "How do you _accidentally steal a cannon?_ Is this true?" He gave the other three a sharp look. Gilbert nodded quickly. Washington massaged his temples, looking exasperated. "You four are going to get yourselves killed. But…" He looked up now and Gilbert was surprised to see a small smile on his face. "Good job, boys. However, Alexander, we will still speak about your abysmal decision making, and I am sure that you will never attempt such a foolhardy stunt again, hmm?"

"Yes sir." Alex looked as relieved as Gilbert felt. Mr. Miller was giving him an exasperatedly fond glance, and Mr. Laurens was pinching the bridge of his nose. Matthew the tailor looked like he was trying not to laugh.

 **Here's part two! Hope you all enjoyed that. Please review and leave a suggestion for the next chapter! Yr. Obedient Svt. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	10. Basically We All Get Lectured

**Chapter ten! The aftermath of the cannon stealing. I apologize in advance, this will be a short chapter.**

Washington was as good as his word. That very night, as soon as they were alone in the tent, he launched into a lecture about disobedience, the danger he'd put himself and his friends into, and how they were very lucky to be alive, the absolute miracle that they'd managed to survive dragging a cannon bigger than they were through the streets of New York while bullets whizzed around them, and finished with a 'do you know how much trouble you'd be in if you had been hurt young man.'

What surprised Alexander most was when the General shook his head and told him, "Martha will be absolutely furious with the both of us." He didn't understand. Alex knew that Martha was Washington's wife, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why she'd be angry. Noting his confused look, the General explained,

"With me for possibly letting you die and at you for possibly dying."

Nodding, Alex was still dwelling on the matter late into the night. Slipping out of bed to get some water, he noticed the papers spread out over Washington's desk. Three words in particular caught his eye.

 _Our adopted son._

Curse him, but Alexander edged closer to the desk and picked up the letter, careful not to wake the General, who was sleeping but a few feet away. Squinting to read it in the faint moonlight, Alex let his eyes roam over the page.

 _Dearest Martha,_ the letter began.

 _You will not believe the stunt our adopted son pulled off today. Alexander and his three friends actually crept into the midst of a battle and managed to steal a British cannon. It's a miracle that they are alive, to be honest._

No. Not okay. Alex dropped the letter back onto the desktop, closing his eyes as the tent spun about him. He was no one's adopted son, certainly not General Washington's. Except…..he kind of wanted to be. It was nice, to have an adult who cared about him, something he hadn't had since his mother had died. But he would leave, because everyone left eventually, he would leave and Alexander would be alone again, trying to find his footing.

Flopping back down onto his cot, he stared at the roof of the tent, listening to the slow, even breathing of the General. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as the words from the letter ran around in his head.

 _Our adopted son, our adopted son, our…. son._

The next morning, he rose pretending like he hadn't seen the letter. When Washington smiled at him and ruffled his hair, he felt a lump grow in his throat, but ignored it. When Tench asked him to draft a few letters because he 'did it better than most of the aides anyways and would probably be one himself if he wasn't too young' he did so, sitting quietly at the desk in the corner. His friends noticed his discontent.

"Mon petit lion, how are you faring on this fine day?" Gilbert inquired as he leaned up against the desk that Alex sat at, penning a letter to Congress. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be writing, but he'd seen the letter on a stack of papers and couldn't resist sharing some of his ideas with the fools in Philadelphia. Alexander tried to wave him away before he knocked over an inkwell or candle. Gilbert was not exactly known for his gracefulness.

"Just fine, Gil, please be careful." The French boy frowned. "Non, you are not. You have been silent and if I say so, rather, ah, 'down', is that how you say?" Alex sighed. There was no deterring Gilbert when he was set on finding something. "How are you and the Millers doing?"

Gilbert frowned. "We are quite well, you have spent many evenings with Mr. Miller as well, so why do you ask?" Alexander shook his head. "I mean as a family. Do you feel like you…. belong?"

A odd look spread over his friend's face. "Well, they certainly do feel less like strangers than they did a few months ago. So, yes, I suppose it does feel a bit more like a family." Ah. Well, Gilbert never seemed to have any problems bonding with people. Maybe it was only Alexander who felt the need to push people away, whether it be for their sake, or his own, or both. He sighed and dipped the pen back into the inkwell.

* * *

John had almost immediately regretted the decision to steal the cannon when they got back to the army's camp and saw the expressions on the faces of the General and his father. Washington, on one hand, looked almost pleasantly surprised, if not a bit worried, which was slowly giving way to relief as he saw that they were alive and unscathed. His father, however, looked like there was nothing John could have done to disappoint him more.

And the minute the General had dismissed them for the night, he had all but dragged John back to their tent and gotten worked up in what quickly turned out to be a yelling match.

"What on _earth_ were you four thinking? Not only did you disobey direct orders that came from me and General Washington, you disobeyed those orders to sneak into the middle of a battle to steal cannons from armed, trained British soldiers, when you could have been killed or captured at any moment!"

John groaned internally. He'd heard this lecture before. His father plowed on regardless. "Can you imagine, for a moment, what would have happened in the event you'd been caught? Your friend the French marquis, though just a boy, would be a powerful tool for the British in bartering with the French monarchy. And a spy, well that's essentially handing them the positions of our men, where and how we get our supplies. We'd be dead in weeks! As for you and the other, Hamilton, simply your knowledge of the army would be enough to convince them to torture it out of you on the spot, if I'm not mistaken. If they didn't shoot you the moment they saw you, that is."

"And what of our family, back home in South Carolina? What of your own future? Do you never stop to think, John?" His father shook his head, a scowl on his face. A sudden anger surged through him.

"I don't want to stay behind and wait it out! I want to _help_ , to actually do something for this war! This was a way to do that." he argued. "Anything at all, even running messages would be fine. Or writing! Alexander does that sometimes, I could help him, and the General surely wouldn't mind a few more aides at his disposal."

"The General doesn't need a few boys playing at war to handle his important correspondence!" his father shouted back. "John, you are far too young for this, and so are your friends! It's a miracle that the Mulligan boy is even entrusted with missions of such importance. People in their youth are foolish, you know that as well as I! All you need to do in this war is stay alive, stay alive until you're old enough to actually be of use, and then you can become a soldier or whatever you like, if the war even lasts that long. I don't want to have to tell your siblings that their elder brother is dead, understand?"

John had heard that from his father several times before. It was what he always was told when he eagerly asked if he could join a battalion or take part in the latest campaign. But he remembered his sisters playing in the house, laughter echoing off the walls, and his brothers shouting as they fake- sparred with long sticks from the woods. He nodded. Very well. He would stay alive so he could go home and see them again.

His father sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Good. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to sleep." John didn't mind. He went outside as soon as his father had fallen asleep, sitting a little ways from the earthworks and looking up at the stars. A small cough from behind him caused him to jump a bit. Turning, he caught sight of Hercules Mulligan.

"Hercules! What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same of you, John."

The two lay on their backs in the grass, looking up at the constellations. "My dad was pretty angry at me. Chewed me out over the foolishness of our little expedition." John explained. "After he fell asleep, I decided I could do with some fresh air."

Herc nodded. "I know what you mean. Maybe we were a bit foolish, but I think we did it for the right reasons, and so that sort of evens the score, right?" John rolled onto his side to look over at his friend. "You know, I'm starting to think you're a philosopher, Hercules."

His friend grinned and punched his arm playfully. "Yep, that's me. Hercules Mulligan, spy extraordinaire and philosopher. And of course, being a tailor's apprentice in my spare time." The night passed in a blur of conversation until they eventually headed back to their own beds.

* * *

Gilbert had been expecting Mr. Miller to shout at him, or at the very least lecture him sternly. What he got when they reached the tent was a fit of laughter, the man's fist banging on the table as he tried to rein in his wild laughing.

"Oh…. God, Gilbert, you….. absolute fool, I can't even …..what on earth were you thinking, young man, you're in such trouble …..just you wait until Rebecca hears about this, she'll …..lose her mind …..you perfect little genius." The rest of his words dissolved into cackling, until he wiped his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"Seriously, though, don't go putting yourself into such danger again, young man. But oh my God, that was _brilliant._ Foolish, absolutely, but brilliant nonetheless. Stealing the cannon, that was perfect. Now the British have one less weapon, and we have one more. And, maybe we should just keep this under wraps, until after this is all done? I think Rebecca would probably chew me out for allowing you to go under enemy fire in the dead of night. You know what, we won't tell her any stories from this war until after it's over." John Miller decided. "We wouldn't want her to worry, now would we." He chuckled. "Although it might be a bit too late for that, ay?"

Yes, it likely was. When Gilbert lay down to sleep that night, he could still hear Mr. Miller's faint chuckling a few feet away.

The next morning was cool and clear. Gilbert sauntered through the camp, getting amused glances from soldiers who had no doubt heard about the little raid the three boys had conducted. He even got a few salutes, which he returned in kind. His friends were nowhere to be seen, however, and he began to worry slightly. What if they had been in more trouble than himself? A quick check of the aides' offices revealed at least one other member of their group.

Alexander was hunched over a desk in the corner, writing furiously, occasionally glancing over at the paper beside the letter he was working on. Gilbert trotted up to him, leaning against the desk, careful to avoid the inkpot in the corner. He'd made the mistake of knocking one over once and was nearly chased from the room by a furious Alexander and a Tench Tilghman, who was apparently also using the ink.

"Mon petit lion, how are you faring on this fine day?" he inquired, catching the other boy's attention briefly. Alex waved his hands absentmindedly like he was trying to shoo Gilbert away, and continued working. "Just fine, Gil, please be careful."

No he wasn't. He looked upset, and he was completely silent, which was both a cause for happiness and a cause for concern, as it would usually take something very big to silence the little lion. "Non, you are not. You have been silent and if I say so, rather, ah, 'down', is that how you say?"

A sigh. And then, a question that Gilbert had not anticipated.

"How are you and the Millers doing?"

They were all fine, Alex knew that, he saw them every day. "We are quite well, you have spent many evenings with Mr. Miller as well, so why do you ask?" Alexander shook his head. "I mean like a family. Do you feel like you…. belong?"

Oh. Now that was a different matter altogether. Gilbert slowly though over his answer in his mind, surprised to find that yes, the people he'd only met a few months ago were starting to feel more and more like kin and less like strangers. "Well, they certainly do feel less like strangers than they did a few months ago. So, yes, I suppose it does feel a bit more like a family." Alexander sighed and dipped his pen in the ink again.

Gilbert wondered for a minute if something was wrong with his friend. Did he have anyone he felt close to? Apart from them, of course. He thought about General Washington. He looked up to the man, and knew that Alex did too, even if he wouldn't admit it. Perhaps over time they would grow closer. Gilbert shook his head. Petit lion was certainly very enigmatic.

* * *

At first, Hercules was relieved when Matthew said he wasn't mad at them for stealing the cannon. That relief quickly evaporated when the tailor crossed his arms and glared sternly down at him, saying instead, "I'm very disappointed in you, Hercules. You could have been killed, or captured, or worse even, and then I don't know what I would do. I know that you are still young, as are your friends, but please, for their sake, mine, your own, and that of their guardians, you four need to be more careful." A small smile briefly crossed his face. "That was very foolish of you, very foolish indeed, but it was still a, ah, _interesting,_ shall we say, idea."

Nudging the bedpost slightly, Hercules admitted, "It was mostly Alexander's idea. But we all helped." he added quickly. Matthew smirked. "I've heard all about your little friend's crazy ideas, believe me." He turned to get ready for bed, pausing. "And Hercules, some advice. When you four all get together, you should choose a place with less echoing. But I do agree with the kid, at least. Congress _is_ rather incompetent at times."

As he fell asleep that night, Hercules made a mental note to tell the others that they needed to change their meeting place.

Well, he would have fallen asleep, if not for Matthew's infernal snoring. Groaning quietly, he swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood up, he made his way to the tent flaps and pushed out into the cool night.

The stars were bright above him as he made his way about the camp, occasionally dodging the night guards as they made their rounds. At the edge of the thicket of tents, he made his way to a clear stretch of grass out of view of anyone from the camp. A gentle wind was blowing, and Hercules thought that it seemed both melancholy and beautiful. _Rather ironic for a war._

Another figure was sitting in the grass, gazing up at the sky, their weight resting back against their hands. Herc recognized the poof of brown hair. It was John. He coughed slightly to alert the other boy to his presence. John jumped slightly, turning quickly, but he relaxed and grinned when he saw Hercules.

"Hercules! What are you doing out here?"

He smiled. "I could ask the same of you, John."

They lay under the stars for a while, just taking it all in, until John broke the silence. "My dad was pretty angry at me. Chewed me out over the foolishness of our little expedition. After he fell asleep, I decided I could do with some fresh air." Hercules could understand that. He nodded, explaining his own reasons. "I know what you mean. Maybe we were a bit foolish, but I think we did it for the right reasons, and so that sort of evens the score, right?" He decided to leave out the bit that he had left the tent mainly because of Matthew's snoring.

John rolled over and met his eyes. "You know, I'm starting to think you're a philosopher, Hercules." Ha. He grinned lightly punched John's arm in a playful manner. "Yep, that's me. Hercules Mulligan, spy extraordinaire and philosopher. And of course, being a tailor's apprentice in my spare time." John laughed at that, and they spoke about whatever came to mind, until the moon was high in the sky and they could scarcely keep their eyes open.

As Hercules slipped back into the tent, he was relieved to note that Matthew's snores had finally abated. Good. His next resort would have been a gag of some sort. Rolling over on his cot, he slipped off to sleep.

 **This is the product of writer's block, spite, and adrenaline, so I am sorry it is not the best and also rather short. The next chapter will be better. And I'm shooting for an update every Saturday, some time before midnight. Hope you enjoyed it, review please! Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant, ~RedCoatsRedder**


	11. The Schuylkill

**Next chapter is here!**

They were all fourteen now. Their birthdays had passed over the year they'd been in the camp, and though it was hard to properly celebrate in the middle of a war, they did the best they could. Alexander had been given a little more freedom, and a lot more writing. The nickname Gil had given him had caught on. Now, most everyone called him 'Little Lion.' Even Washington used it.

And the four were allowed to participate in scouting missions now. Which is how they ended up in a expedition along a certain river, and Alexander ended up with a exciting story to tell.

"HEY HERC! GIL! JOHN! GUESS WHAT WASHINGTON JUST TOLD ME!" Alexander came skidding into their new meeting spot, a little area created by some trees and one of the walls of the house being used as the army's headquarters. His three friends looked up expectantly.

He stopped, breathing heavily but still grinning. "We're going on a mission along the Schuylkill River. We're going to burn a mill."

The boys erupted in excited shouts. "When?" Hercules demanded. Alex couldn't contain his smile. "We leave in an hour."

An hour flew by in preparation for the mission. The boys found out that Mr. Laurens would also be accompanying them. John looked a bit unsettled but his excitement returned in full force a few moments later. Washington pulled Alexander aside before they left.

"Make sure you're careful, son. Stay safe, you hear? I want you back at this camp as soon as possible." The General was smiling but his eyes betrayed his worry. "Yes, sir." Alexander promised. Washington looked a bit happier, and ruffled his hair. "Good lad."

Mounting his horse, Alex twisted in the saddle to grin at Gilbert, who was riding next to him. The man leading the mission spurred his horse forward, and the rest of them followed.

On the ride, they went over the orders. The man in the lead shouted back to them. "Listen up! We're going to be burning the mill and its contents so the British can't use them. Whatever we can manage to take with us, we will. Everyone needs to pull their weight equally, understand?" He gave a pointed look to the four boys, who scowled back at him.

John muttered a few rather obscene insults under his breath.

* * *

John decided that he hated the man in charge of the mission immediately. Upon asking Alexander for a name, the other boy asked around, before coming up with Charles Lee. The man was a snake. And, he believed the four to be less capable despite everything they'd done. (Well, admittedly it had mostly been the cannon stealing, but still.)

It took a better part of the day to reach the mill, but at long last they were within a stone's throw of the structure. It was a simple wooden building along the water. Lee swept off his horse, and promptly stumbled over a rock on the ground. Straightening with a glare, he signaled for everyone to follow.

The mill seemed deserted, which was good. It made their mission easier. A few soldiers moved to enter the building, and others readied flint and matches. John and the other three were ordered to look for flammable materials so the mill would ignite faster.

They trudged along the riverbank, occasionally snatching up a dry reed or twig. Not much was dry next to the Schuylkill. Hercules overturned a rock with his foot. "I don't like Lee all that much." John snorted. "I second." Gilbert nodded and proclaimed in French, "Lee est un enculé." Alexander doubled over laughing, causing Hercules and John to look at the other two curiously. "What did he say?" Alex stopped giggling long enough to say, "I really don't think I should translate that, just know that Gilbert here didn't exactly call Lee a wonderful person." Ah. Well, that made enough sense to John and Herc, and they too began to laugh.

Except ...was that a flash of red between the grey bark of the trees? The glint of metal among the brown dirt? The thump of boots on dead leaves? John felt his heart stop as a squadron of five redcoats appeared, too far to hear them, but close enough to see them if one happened to glance in their direction. Simultaneously, all four boys dropped the brush they'd been carrying and raced back in the direction of the mill.

The first person they saw was John's father, who was in the middle of carrying a bag of flour to a number of small boats on the river. Wondering dazedly, _where did those come from,_ John grabbed his father's arm. Alexander, Gil, and Hercules crowded around him, looking as frantic as John felt. "Dad! There are British soldiers coming, we need to go, _now."_ He tugged his father towards one of the boats.

Henry Laurens deposited his bag of flour and frowned. "You boys were told to go collect fire- starting material, where is it? You say you saw British soldiers? Look, we would know if there were any redcoats coming. I'm sure everything is just fine-" He was cut off as a round of gunshots exploded from the trees.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of fear, worry, fire, and the smell of smoke. A man rushed out of the mill, while two others hurriedly struck matches and knocked together flint. Smoke and flames began to rise steadily into the air. Next to John, a man rushing to one of the boats fell with a cry of pain, his leg bleeding. Hercules and another man rushed forward to help him down to the boats.

As John dashed down the slope towards the water, he caught sight of Alex and Gil herding the horses towards the water. Lee was already in a boat, looking terrified. Eventually, the entire group was there and the boats pushed off into the river.

Only one problem. They were moving far too slowly. More gunshots echoed into the air, and John crouched as low as he could in the boat, wondering just how they were going to get out of here.

* * *

Hercules was huddled next to his friends in one of the boats, as the British fired on them and the mill burned. The boats were too low in the water, likely due to the horses. It was also probably the horses' fault that they weren't going nearly fast enough to escape the redcoats' bullets. A sudden terrifying thought passed through his mind. Surely the British wouldn't try to follow them across the river?

A splash sounded from the bank. Okay, maybe they would. Lee called from another boat, "Everyone, into the water! We do not have a chance of escaping with our lives if we stay on the boats. Leave the stolen supplies; at least the British will not get to them. Just let the horses stay on the boats." As much as Hercules disliked Lee, he had to admit that the man was right. There was a very, _very_ small chance of escape on the boats.

He dove into the water. It was dark, and cold, and he could see the faint outlines of the others around him. Bubbles flew from his mouth when he cried out, because _damn_ that water really was cold. Hercules broke the surface of the river, gasping for air, looking around to see if the others had surfaced yet. There was Gilbert, pushing his hair out of his eyes, John, who had somehow managed to get some sort of water plant draped across his head, and Alexander, who looked like a wet, extremely angry cat.

Another volley of gunfire sounded from the bank, and they began to swim on towards the shore. He lost track of his friends among the dark waves and the wind.

It was only when they dragged themselves ashore, some men tugging on the reins of the horses that they'd (somehow) managed to bring along, did Hercules get the nagging sense that something wasn't right.

And it was only when they rode into camp that he realized he had lost sight of Alex. He could see John and Gilbert, yes, and even Mr. Laurens (who, by the way, looked very ridiculous when wet), but no sign of Alexander. Hercules pusher down the flickers of concern. His friends were all safe. Nothing to worry about. Right?

But when the group of men crowded outside General Washington's study and Alexander still hadn't appeared, Hercules felt a slight sense of despair. He could see it on Gil and John's faces as well, though none of them voiced what they all must have been thinking. _What if Alex didn't make it?_

Matthew and Mr. Miller suddenly came hurrying out of the crowd. Miller gripped Gilbert's shoulder like he'd thought he would never see the boy again. Matthew clapped Hercules on the back. "I'm glad you're all safe. Laurens, looks like you and John are alright too." Matthew smiled.

Mr. Miller, however, was glancing around. "Gil, where's your other little friend? Washington's boy?"

Hercules swallowed hard.

* * *

Gilbert had been looking for petit lion ever since they crawled out of the river. But now that they were back at camp, with still no sign of Alexander, he began to wonder if he might really be ...gone.

No. He'd already lost too much. He was not going to lose anyone else. Not Alex, not John, not Hercules. Not Mr. Miller.

The sound of a fist on wood silenced everyone. A voice called for Lee to enter and give his report. The men all filed into Washington's study. He looked a bit surprised to see them all but said nothing of it. The General leaned forward slightly. "Lee, report. Was your mission a success?"

Lee, curse that man, nodded. "Yes it was. We were able to destroy the mill with minimal losses." Washington frowned, his gaze casting around the room. "Where is Alexander Hamilton?" Lee made an inarticulate sound in the back of his throat. Good, Gilbert thought savagely. It's Lee's fault he's not here with us now. At the same time, he wanted Lee to lie, to say something that everyone would know to be untrue, but would still cling to, their last fragile hope that they hadn't lost another friend.

"Alexander Hamilton was lost on the river during our retreat, sir. We weren't able to find his body."

Damn Lee.

Washington remained stoic, his face not betraying any emotion. "I see. Men, you are dismissed. Except for John, Gilbert and Hercules. You're not in trouble," he added. "I would just like to speak with you three." The door closed with a thump as the last of the men left.

Gilbert swallowed nervously, hands fluttering. The General looked at them for a long time before asking, "Is this true?" It was Hercules who spoke.

"Yes sir."

"Thank you boys. You are dismissed. Please, get some sleep. I know that this was undoubtedly a difficult day for you three." Gilbert left the office, heading to his tent. John and Hercules did the same. They paused for a moment before they separated. Gil knew that they were all hoping that their friend would somehow come back to them.

Mr. Miller was waiting for him. When Gilbert came in, he was wrapped in a gentle hug. "I know it's hard." Mr. Miller whispered. Throat tight, Gilbert could only nod.

Sometime later that night Gil was shaken awake. Shouting was coming from outside the tent. Blearily, he plodded over to the tent flap and pushed it aside. Alexander was standing outside, absolutely soaked, clinging to John and Hercules. Gilbert wasn't aware that he'd started running, but he collided with his three friends in a long embrace.

Soldiers all around them were grinning. Some looked shocked, others relieved. Tench Tilghman patted Alex's head. The noise was enough to rouse the General, who came out of his tent looking quite annoyed that he'd been dragged awake in this manner twice now. It all faded to pure happiness when he saw Alexander.

"Men, it's late. Please, let's celebrate my assistant's return from the dead tomorrow, when we've all slept." The General grasped Alex's shoulder, steering him inside their tent. Gilbert wondered if someone had heard and answered his prayers for a miracle.

* * *

Alexander had walked the entire way back from the mill on foot, in the dark, soaking wet and shivering. When he finally made it back to camp, he'd accidentally alerted a night watchman, who'd recognized him and immediately started to bring him to Washington. On the way there, they'd met Henry Laurens, with John, on their way back from a short stroll. Hercules had ducked outside shortly after, awakened by shouts and Matthew's snores. It had all progressed from there.

But now he was standing back in his own tent, with Washington in front of him. Alex opened his mouth to speak, ready to apologize for causing such a commotion, when a blanket was suddenly draped over his shoulders and two arms wound firmly around him. He found himself pressed to Washington's chest.

"Oh, _Alex,_ never do that again, you hear me? I thought I told you to stay safe." Washington was stroking his hair now, smoothing it back where it clung to his face. Before he could respond, Washington continued. "I thought you were dead, my boy, I was so worried for you." He examined Alexander critically. "And you're soaking wet, and shivering, come here." Washington led him gently to a chair in the tent corner, pulling him onto his lap, hugging him tighter.

Alex wasn't exactly sure what to think. On one hand, he wasn't a child. On the other hand, it was nice to have someone care for him so. Washington's hand gently cupped the back of his head, keeping him close. "Take off that jacket before you fall ill, son. I don't want to think I'm going to lose you again."

When he had removed his wet clothing and replaced it with a dry shirt, Alexander carefully reached out and tugged on Washington's sleeve. "Sir?" The General looked surprised but crouched slightly so he was eye level with the boy. "What is it, Alex?"

He dipped his head bashfully. "I'm sorry if I made you worry, sir. I-" He stops, confused, when he sees Washington smiling. "You don't need to be sorry." His expression grows more solemn and angry. "Lee, however, does."

Alexander laughs, grinning up at the older man. "I will not have a problem with that, Dad."

It isn't until later that night that he realizes what he said.

 **I WANTED A FREAKIN ADVENTURE AND HEARTFELT CONVERSATION DONT JUDGE ME. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	12. Revenge is Sweet

**I want to thank those who reviewed for taking the time to give me feedback. I'm glad you all enjoyed that! Also, thank you Varkrow for sharing that bit about Lee liking dogs. I want to incorporate that. :) This chapter will include the perspectives of Washington, John Miller, Henry Laurens, Matthew the tailor, and Charles Lee along with the four boys.**

"Alexander Hamilton was lost on the river during our retreat, sir. We weren't able to find his body."

Two simple sentences, and Washington felt as though he'd lost a part of himself. Even though he'd known the boy for barely a year, he already felt like a son. He had written to Martha about the boy, and she had grown fond of him as well. They'd been planning on bringing him to Mount Vernon when the war was over.

And now that would never happen, because Alexander was dead. At fourteen.

He lay in his tent that night, staring up at the roof. The small cot that was typically occupied by the boy lay empty, neatly made, undisturbed since he'd risen that very morning, bursting with excitement when he was told he'd be going on the Schuylkill mission.

On the verge of sleep, he was dragged back to wakefulness by shouting coming from just outside the tent. Rising slowly with the full intent of yelling at whatever drunken soldiers were outside, he pulled on his cloak and stepped into the night.

All of his anger faded when he saw who was outside. Alexander stood, tightly embracing his three friends, very much alive. Washington was elated. He reached out to grab the boy's shoulder, gently pulling him towards the tent. "Men, it's late. Please, let's celebrate my assistant's _(son son son)_ return from the dead tomorrow, when we've all slept."

The very moment they were inside the tent, Alexander opened his mouth, probably to apologize, but he never got the chance. Washington grabbed a blanket from his bed, wrapped it tightly around the boy, and pulled him close. He shook slightly in the General's arms, poor thing. "Oh, _Alex,_ never do that again, you hear me? I thought I told you to stay safe." He stroked the boy's hair out of his face, Alexander was alive, he wasn't dead at all.

"I thought you were dead, my boy, I was so worried for you." And he still might be dead, if Washington didn't do anything about his current state. "And you're soaking wet, and shivering, come here." Pulling Alexander gently onto his lap, hugging him tighter. The boy's shaking lessened, and Washington brought a hand up to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer still. "Take off that jacket before you fall ill, son. I don't want to think I'm going to lose you again." Nevertheless, he held Alexander for a few minutes longer.

Now, when the boy was dry and warm again, all was well. Washington felt a hesitant tug on his sleeve. Alex looked up at him shyly. "Sir?"

"What is it, Alex?"

Alexander hangs his head, looking almost ashamed. "I'm sorry if I made you worry, sir. I-" He stops, looking confused. Washington is smiling at him. "You don't need to be sorry." _Don't you dare feel like this was your fault._ He thinks back to the officer standing in his study, delivering the false news, looking calm and unaffected. "Lee, however, does."

His boy smiles, the first true smile all night. Laughing, Alexander tells him, "I will not have a problem with that, Dad." Washington goes still. Did he hear that correctly? Yes. Loud and clear. Alexander doesn't seem to realize what he said. Well, Washington would not point it out, then. He pulls a blanket over Alex, who had collapsed nearly the minute his head touched the pillow. "Goodnight, son."

He is going to fucking _murder_ Lee.

* * *

John Miller hadn't exactly been pleased to discover the boys were being sent out on a mission, no matter how simple and straightforward it seemed. Gilbert had burst into the tent, dancing around and shoving things into a saddlebag, practically singing out the news: he and his friends were going to burn a mill.

Okay. Maybe he was being a bit overprotective. But despite having known the French boy for barely a year, he'd already grown very fond of him. And so had Rebecca. He received letters from her weekly, asking after him, telling him all about what was going on in New York, saying how much she missed him, etc.

And there was always at least one paragraph asking about Gilbert. Was he alive, had he been hurt, was he allowed to fight, if so, don't let him fight, did he make any friends, on and on. John tried to answer them to the best of his ability, without making Rebecca worry. He conveniently forgot to mention how Gilbert and his friends had stolen a British cannon.

But this was different. There was a chance that one of them could be hurt, or killed, or captured, or…. He chuckled to himself. He sounded like an overly anxious parent.

Wait…..

He _was_ an overly anxious parent.

So here he was, holding the reins of Gilbert's horse as the boy mounted and secured his bag. "Make sure you're careful, now. I want you coming back from this unscathed, got it?" Gilbert gave him a silly grin. "Monsieur Miller, you worry too much! I shall be fine. It will be easy, in and out. I promise."

Heh. Well, at least he knew the kid would be responsible. His only consolation was that General Washington was speaking with Gil's friend. Alexander, he thought the boy's name was. He looked just as worried as John felt. By the looks of it, the kid was saying the same things Gilbert was. As he watched, Washington ruffled the kid's hair and stood by as he mounted the horse next to Gil's.

A few moments later and the party was gone. John stepped back and sighed. Well, Henry Laurens was going too, as a request to keep an eye on his son, who was also named John. He'd conveniently agreed to watch the other three as well.

Matthew, the tailor/spy, was also watching. His apprentice, Hercules, was another one of Gilbert's friends, also on the mission. Washington went off to go run the army, and John and Matthew sat down to wait for the party's return.

Night fell. And at long last, they returned. Everyone was soaked. It looked like they'd gone for a swim in the Schuylkill. Matthew and John hurried forward, both breathing sighs of relief when they saw Gilbert, Hercules, and Henry Laurens and his son, no worse for the wear."I'm glad you're all safe. Laurens, looks like you and John are alright too." Matthew was smiling, but the three boys looked worried. Wait. Three. There were four of them. Where was the General's kid? "Gil, where's your other little friend? Washington's boy?"

There was no response; each boy looked down at their feet. John Miller felt his throat close. Oh God, no. He couldn't be….

But he didn't have the chance to ask. Everyone from the mission filed into Washington's study. The man would be devastated when he found out. John trudged back to the tent to wait for Gilbert. When the boy finally did come in, blinking back tears, John gently hugged him. "I know it's hard." he whispered.

Late that night he was awoken by shouts. Through blurry eyes, he saw Gil dash outside. Following quickly, he grinned.

The four boys were pressed close, hugging each other tightly. Alexander, he suddenly remembered, that was the kid's name. Alive. It seemed that it would be very difficult indeed for the war to kill any of the four boys. _And thank God for that,_ he thought as he headed back inside to get some sleep.

* * *

When Henry Laurens had volunteered for the mission along the Schuylkill, he hadn't thought he would be responsible for the wellbeing of four boys. But here he was. They rode alongside the river, John laughing and talking with his three friends. The French boy, the spy, and the General's boy. Up front, Lee would glare back at them every so often, and Henry would glare right back.

No one was around when they reached the mill. Lee immediately gave them orders to remove as much flour as they could from the mill, as much as the horses would be able to carry. Not surprisingly, he gave the four a very simple job. Collecting some flammable material to use. They looked unhappy about it, but did it anyway.

Things progressed smoothly for a while, they switched to using the boats moored alongside the mill for the flour, for some reason. Weren't they just going to ride back anyways? Then, John appeared out of nowhere, gasping for breath. His friends were right behind him. "Dad! There are British soldiers coming, we need to go, _now."_ he pulled at his father's sleeve.

Impossible. There had been no warning from the man keeping watch, how could there be soldiers approaching. Frowning, Henry set down the bag of flour he was carrying. "You boys were told to go collect fire- starting material, where is it? You say you saw British soldiers? Look, we would know if there were any redcoats coming. I'm sure everything is just fine-" He never finished the sentence, because at that moment gunfire exploded from the trees.

Panic. Fear. Worry. The only emotions Henry felt for the next few minutes. At long last, they were safely in the boats, moving across the river. Far, far too slowly. Still in a daze, he barely registered the order to swim for it, flinging himself over the side. The water was cold, and dark. When he surfaced, he caught sight of John, safe, alive, that's all that mattered.

The journey back to camp was cold. Even the gentlest of winds felt like knives. And upon their arrival back to camp, they were greeted by Matthew and John Miller. "I'm glad you're all safe. Laurens, looks like you and John are alright too." Henry could only nod. Except, the four boys looked dejected. Wait a moment. John ( _thank god)_ , Gilbert, Hercules. Three. He'd lost track of the fourth, Alexander, but he was sure the boy was fine.

Standing in the General's study impatiently, waiting for Lee to give his report so he could go to bed, was when he heard the news. "Alexander Hamilton was lost on the river during our retreat, sir. We weren't able to find his body."

He and John returned to their tents. Henry changed out of his wet clothes, but John merely sat on the edge of his cot and stared down at his hands. Henry sighed. "John, come on, get into something dry before you catch your death." At his son's sharp intake of breath, he realized that maybe he should have chosen different wording.

"Come on. Get into dry clothes and then we'll go on a walk."

The stars and moon shone bright over their heads as they walked around the edge of the camp. Henry laid a hand on John's shoulder. "I know he was your friend. I'm sorry you had to lose him." John kicked a rock. "I should have done something. It's my fault, we were in that together."

"No, John, it's not. If it's anyone's fault at all, it's Lee's. Don't blame yourself."

All was silent when they returned to camp. John looked a bit better, but Henry knew it would take a very long time for him to recover from the death of his friend. As they were about to enter the tent, a watchman came hurrying forward, escorting a small figure. Who gasped, and ran forward. "John!"

His son turned, and let out a cry of relief. "Alex! How, you're alive!" The two collided, and not much later another boy ran out of a tent. Hercules, the tailor's apprentice. The noise had drawn out more people, soldiers, officers, and aide de camps. And the French boy, Gilbert.

Unfortunately, it also drew out Washington, though he simply looked relieved that his adopted boy was alive and well. Henry thought that if miracles could really happen, this might just be one of them.

* * *

Matthew was happy for Hercules. Really. He wasn't worried in the slightest, no, not at all, he wasn't worried that the boy might fall off his horse, or drown, or get hurt by something. Well, that was all a lie. He was close to panic. He'd promised that Hercules would return safely. How was this fulfilling that promise?

Well, spying wasn't fulfilling that promise either, but at least he was able to keep an eye on Hercules. Here, he was going off, alone, with just his friends and a small company of soldiers, led by a man that Matthew trusted about as far as he could throw him. Matthew took several deep breaths and walked decisively out of the tent, determined to see the group off without getting too worried.

And for the most part, it went alright. John Miller was helping Gilbert, and General Washington had even come out to speak with his- assistant, was what he said, but everyone knew that the kid was really more like an adopted son. He helped Hercules secure the saddlebag, and reminded him to stay safe. Several times. To the point where Hercules groaned, "I know, Matthew, don't worry, I'll be fine." He waved as the party rode off.

After the dust cleared, he and John Miller were left standing in the clearing, wearing matching expressions of concern. They sat down, fetching drinks and food to distract from thoughts of worry, and essentially had very little to do, which was unfortunate, as it would have provided a welcome getaway from their near-panic.

Night had come by the time the group returned to camp. They were drenched to the bone, and Matthew felt the first stirrings of panic as he and John dashed forward to greet the boys.

Hercules was fine. Wet, yes, but no blood, no cuts, bruises, or any visible injury. Gilbert, too, was alright. So was Henry Laurens, except his son had a water plant draped across his head for some reason. Everyone was fine. "I'm glad you're all safe. Laurens, looks like you and John are alright too." He couldn't hold back a relieved smile.

Except maybe they weren't. Something seemed off, and it wasn't just the fact that they all looked like they'd decided to go swimming. _Where's Washington's kid?_ He was fine, surely. Probably at the back of the group. Matthew decided to focus on Hercules. He was fine, thank goodness, perfectly fine. All that worrying had been in vain. However, the small, nagging question about Herc's friend wouldn't leave his mind.

John Miller voiced what he'd been thinking. "Gil, where's your other little friend? Washington's boy?" The boys said nothing.

They were only fourteen, Matthew thought as the group trudged towards Washington's study. Why were they here, they should be safe at home, where bullets and gunpowder would never touch them. Fate, Matthew decided, was cruel.

When Hercules arrived back at the tent, looking very much dejected, Matthew looked up. "Did- did your friend….?" He's unable to finish the question, but Hercules nods anyway. He nudges the bedpost with the tip of his boot. Matthew stands and places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry about your friend. You were all very brave, and knew the risks involved with this."

Hercules sighs. "We were attacked by a squadron of British troops. We tried to use boats to escape, but had to swim, and he must have been hit by a bullet while we were in the water." He looks down, and sighs again. No more words are said, and they go to sleep.

Matthew wakes up sometime late in the night, hearing shouts coming from outside. He's too tired to process anything from his surroundings, and goes back to sleep.

The next morning, when he sees Alexander, he screeches. Hercules, laughing, explains that Alexander had returned late in the night, surviving after all.

* * *

Lee was feeding his dogs. He really loved his dogs. People gave him odd looks sometimes, but no one ever said anything about it to his face. Even if they did, it's not like he would care. But this morning, he was quite irritable. It had been about the mission down the Schuylkill, to burn a mill.

It wasn't even as if he'd done a bad job on the mission. They'd been successful, and no one had died. Well, everyone had thought the boy Hamilton had died. Turns out they had been wrong. Hoorah, Lee thought. Why the four boys had even been allowed on the mission was beyond him. Supposedly they were capable, having stolen a cannon from British lines.

And then, of course, they'd been attacked. Fleeing to the boats, and then being forced to abandon them in favor of swimming to shore. Immediately after, they'd hightailed it back to camp. No sane person would stick around under fire and scan the dark water. There was no hope of spotting someone in those conditions.

Which is what Lee had told himself as he knocked on the door of Washington's study. The man had looked somewhat shocked to see them all crowded into his study, but nevertheless had told him to give his report. And, of course, asking about the success of the mission. He had told the man the truth.

"Lee, report. Was your mission a success?"

"Yes it was. We were able to destroy the mill with minimal losses." At that point he had felt the glares of what he assumed were the three other boys who'd gone on the mission as well.

But of course nothing slipped past Washington. He'd scanned every face in the room, frowning, as if he was looking for someone. "Where is Alexander Hamilton?" Ah. At that point, Lee was not proud to admit he'd made a rather strangled squawking noise. Gathering his courage, he decided to go with the cold truth.

"Alexander Hamilton was lost on the river during our retreat, sir. We weren't able to find his body." Well, at least it sounded like he had ordered someone to look for his body. Maybe if Washington thought that they'd tried, he wouldn't feel too compelled to punish Lee for abandoning a soldier. Even though that boy was hardly a soldier.

Fortunately, the General's face had remained impassive. "I see. Men, you are dismissed. Except for John, Gilbert and Hercules. You're not in trouble, I just want to speak with you." As he left the study with the rest of the group, Lee couldn't help but congratulate himself on getting out of that mess.

Leave it to the kid to ruin everything. He was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by shouting. Everyone was clustered around the boy, looking incredibly excited that he'd survived. Excellent for them, Lee didn't really care. He returned to bed.

He should've realized that the kid's return meant Washington would know they hadn't really looked for a body. Which he realized as a messenger shouted from the entrance to his tent to get up, Washington wanted to see him. He shoved open the tent flap, preparing to defend himself or come up with some sort of excuse. He had to stop suddenly, as Washington himself was about to exit the tent. "Lee, come around to the back of the tent, we'll talk outside." As he turned to go, he caught sight of the boy, asleep. Huh. So _that's_ why Washington wanted this to be outside.

The man turns to face him, and begins to lecture. "It seems that the information on the death of Alexander Hamilton that you relayed to me last night was false."

Well, obviously, as the boy is sleeping just a few feet from them. "It would appear so, yes, sir."

Washington glares. "And how did you not see him if you, as you say, searched the water for signs of a body?" Lee nudges a rock. "We must have missed him, sir." Wrong thing to say, he supposes, because Washington seems to only grow more annoyed. "Surely he would have called for help? Is that not one's first instinct when they are endangered?" Lee grits his teeth. Did Washington want a flat out apology, because if so, he wasn't getting one. "I don't know sir, he seems to me to be very prideful."

Rubbing at his temple, Washington sighs. "Alright. Just, please be a little more observant next time, as he could have drowned, any man could have, and it would have been a needless death in this already bloody war." This war paled in comparison to the ones in Europe, where hundreds of men died every hour. "Europe has seen far bloodier wars than this one, I'm sure. Sir." he bites out.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. Washington looks almost livid. "I do not care what wars across the ocean are like! I care that I very nearly lost someone who is proving himself to be a valuable asset in this fight."

He can't keep the slight sulky tone out of his voice when he responds. "You mean the boy you adopted?" It sounds like a taunt, and it's meant to be one, but Washington doesn't seem to care. "Yes. And I don't want him dead before he turns eighteen. You are dismissed. Thank you for your time."

They go their separate ways, Washington back to his tent, and Lee to his. Coming out of his memories with a scowl, Lee returns some of his attention to his dogs. It was none of his business if Washington wanted to adopt some kid. He didn't care that the General placed important tasks on the kid and his friends, even though there were far more capable men.

He scowled again. Washington's little bastard couldn'tve stuck with the group and therefore avoided this whole mess?

* * *

Alexander wakes up to the sound of Washington's voice, seemingly lecturing someone outside the tent. Yes. There is a pair of shadows on the back wall of the tent, one of them waving its hands angrily as it spoke, the other standing still and silent.

"...please be a little more observant next time, as he could have drowned, any man could have, and it would have been a needless death in this already bloody war."

"Europe has seen far bloodier wars than this one, I'm sure. Sir."

"I do not care what wars across the ocean are like! I care that I very nearly lost someone who is proving himself to be a valuable asset in this fight."

"You mean the boy you adopted?" A sulky edge now tinged this voice.

"Yes. And I don't want him dead before he turns eighteen. You are dismissed. Thank you for your time." The shadows march away from each other, and taller one circles the tent and ducks through the flap. It's Washington. He doesn't notice Alex at first, instead depositing his hat on the chair and rubbing at his temples. Alexander slides out of bed, intending to try and slip away before he disturbs the older man, but he promptly stumbles over his boots.

Washington whirls around, relaxing when he sees the young boy. "Son, you're awake. Good, good. Everything's all right?" He places a hand on Alexander's forehead, as if checking for a fever. Alex lets him. "Yes, sir. Um, who were you talking to, outside?"

The General frowns. "You heard us talking?" Alexander flushes. "Sorry, sir, I woke up, and heard you talking. I didn't mean to eavesdrop." Washington places a hand on his shoulder. "No, no, it's alright. We should have spoken somewhere more private."

As he pulls on his boots, Alex watches Washington pace around the tent. "I was speaking with Lee." he says abruptly, taking Alexander by surprise. "He reported you dead. Of course, seeing as you are not dead, he evidently did not look for you as he claimed. Which warranted a discussion."

Alexander stands, attempting to tie his hair back with a strip of leather. Washington took it from his hand, ignoring his squeak of protest, and ties his dark hair at the base of his neck. "Thanks, sir." Alex murmured.

They walk out of the tent, Alex by Washington's side. "I want you to come with me today. I know that you want to spend time with your friends, but you'll have some time later tonight. Alright, son?"

He nods. "Yes sir." Washington smiles down at him. Despite having grown an inch or so over the past year, he doesn't even reach Washington's shoulder. The older man doesn't seem to mind, as Alex is at the perfect height for ruffling hair or a pat on the shoulder.

Soldiers throughout the camp smile at the sight of the General and the small, fierce boy beside him.

* * *

John woke up the next morning feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. His friends, they were all alive. Still here and ready to face the challenges of another day. Thank God.

He trotted through the camp, weaving around the tents and ducking into their meeting spot. Gilbert and Hercules were waiting for him. "Mon ami, we have been placed under intense security." Gil had a grim expression on his face. Hercules sighed. "Scrutiny, man." Gilbert waved his hand airily. "Oui. The point is, we are being supervised. And apparently many people have volunteered for this treasonous act. Among them your father, Mr. Miller, Matthew, Tighlman, and even General Washington."

"Why?"

"Because we have been deemed 'reckless'." Gilbert scowled and kicked up a few leaves. Hercules shrugged. "Well, they're not entirely wrong. We did steal a cannon after all."

John grinned. "We might as well give them a better reason. Of course, it will require planning. I say we do something to Charles Lee." It was then that he noticed the fourth member of their group was missing. "Hey, where's Alex?"

"I saw him with the General." Hercules supplied. "I think Washington wants to make sure he doesn't actually get himself killed." John shrugged. "Fair enough. I, for one, am going to give Alexander the lecture of a lifetime."

Gilbert leaned forward slightly. "Now, about this plan with Lee…."

It was cruel. The boys decided to replace Lee's hair powder with flour. He wouldn't notice until it rained. Which could be a while, but absolutely worth it in the end. Of course, they would have to be careful.

So John had been nominated to sneak into Lee's tent, because he was smaller and stealthier than Gil and Hercules. Lee's tent smelled like wet dog and expensive brandy. At least it was neat. John shifted through the things on the desk until he located a little tin, full of soft white powder. He emptied it into a little bag he'd brought, then replaced it with the flour. The color was a little different, but hopefully Lee wouldn't notice. He also put a little bit of powder back in, to disguise the flour.

Now. John slipped out of the tent, walked calmly until he was a good distance away, and broke into a frantic run. He hurled through the camp, and stopped, panting, in the meeting place. Gilbert and Hercules looked at him expectantly. "It's done."

They burst into laughter, so hard that their sides hurt. "Ooooooh, I can't _wait_ to see Lee's face when it rains." Gilbert grinned. "That's if he doesn't notice." John warned.

"Ok, what'd I miss?" Alexander walked up to them, grinning. "Mon ami, John has just gotten the perfect revenge on our dear Charles Lee."

"What did you guys do?"

"Well, we may or may not have replaced his hair powder with flour."

"But when it rains, it will….."

"Exactly."

* * *

Gilbert regretted nothing. Absolutely nothing. Lee had left one of his friends for dead. So it was only fitting that he paid the price. It wouldn't even be life threatening. The only thing being wounded would be the man's pride, and even that would recover. Assuming that it rained before the powder was gone.

But it was quite amusing to see Lee strutting around with his slightly yellowed hair. The boys were sitting at a campfire with Mr. Miller, Mr. Laurens, Matthew, and Tench Tighlman, who'd followed Alexander from the aides office. "What's so funny, you four?" Tighlman asked when they snickered as Lee walked by.

"It's nothing, Tench. Just a funny memory." Alexander explained. The man still didn't look convinced but let it slide. Gilbert was fine with the man, sure. He just didn't like the sudden increase of adult eyes. Mr. Miller had been keeping a closer eye on him as well, and he suspected that Tighlman had been asked to keep an eye on Alex when Washington couldn't. Not that he blamed his friend for this.

As they walked into their tent that night, Mr. Miller suddenly spun around and gave Gilbert a stern look. "Alright. What did you boys do? I've seen those looks on your faces before, and it's usually the harbinger of mischief. It's Lee, isn't it."

"It's not going to hurt him." Gil blurted before he could stop himself. Mr. Miller rocked back on his heels. "Well, I don't like the man, and if you can guarantee his physical well-being, I'll let it slide. _Once. And only once._ Oh Becca's going to have a fit when she hears this." he groaned.

Gilbert darted forward and squeezed Mr. Miller tightly around the middle. "Merci, Mr. Miller! I am very grateful." John Miller laughed and patted his head. "You can show me just how grateful you are by making sure that no one is harmed by this little prank, got it?"

"Yes! Thank you! You're the best!" Gilbert whirled off to get ready for bed, sweeping around the tent and flopping down onto his cot with a soft _fwump._ John Miller was watching him, a fondly exasperated look on his face. "'Night, Gil."

"Goodnight Mr. Miller!"

A shriek awoke everyone within a hundred foot radius. Charles Lee's voice rang out. "WHERE ARE YOU LITTLE BRATS?! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, OOOOOHHH, YOU'D BEST START RUNNING!" It must be raining, Gilbert figured.

It was indeed. It was as if the heavens had opened up and deposited every ounce of liquid they held within their depths. John, Hercules, and Alexander were already outside, smirking.

Lee came storming up to them. _Mon Dieu._ His hair was covered in a sticky white substance, the product of the flour and water mixing. "You little punks. I know it was you who did this." He swiped out, causing the four to jump backwards.

"Now, let's think this through…" Matthew the tailor began. Lee let out a gutteral noise, stalking closer.

"What's all this about?" Ah. General Washington stood framed in the entrance to his tent, stopping when he saw Lee.

"Lee, is it the fashion to style one's hair with whatever that is now? Because I do think it looks rather uncomfortable."

* * *

Hercules had to admit, it was satisfying to see Lee covered in sticky wet flour. If a tad cruel. And he silently thanked whoever was listening that General Washington was a wonderful person. The man was frowning, brow furrowed, as he listened to Lee going on and on.

"Sir, they are the only culprits! I demand that you punish them justly."

Washington held up a hand. "Lee, do you have any proof that it was these four boys?" Lee looked like he'd been hit with a cannon. "Who else would it be? They are quite obviously guilty, sir!" he sputtered. The General raised an eyebrow. "If they are in fact the perpetrators of this, when would they have switched the powder with flour?"

That gave Lee pause. "It could have been any time, sir. It could have been there for weeks!" Washington still looked skeptical. "Surely you would have noticed the switch, then?" Lee sputtered some more. There wasn't much he could say, Hercules reflected.

The General sighed. "Lee, if you are going to accuse my son and his friends of committing something, please have evidence." He placed a hand on Alexander's shoulder, the kid blushing at his phrasing. Matthew stepped forward behind Hercules, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Sir, I know that Herc wouldn't have had any opportunity to prank anyone. He's been with me for the past day." Hercules felt a surge of graditude towards the man, who gave him a look that said, "I know you're responsible but I don't like Lee so I'm going to let it slide this once."

Mr. Laurens nodded. "General, I know John wouldn't have done this." He looked absolutely sincere, and the four had to make an effort not to laugh, because John had been the one to actually pull off the act.

"And I would know if Gilbert had done anything of the sort." John Miller added. Washington looked satisfied. "Charles, I'm afraid that they did not do this, so I advise you to try and get that out of your hair before it drys."

Lee whirled around and stormed off. Matthew sighed. "Hercules. First, I'm a tiny bit annoyed, but mostly okay with this because I really don't like that guy. I don't trust him. Second, that was pretty funny." He grinned, punching Herc's arm playfully.

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about." Hercules replied in a mock- offended tone. "We are one hundred percent innocent. I am wounded, I tell you, _wounded."_ Matthew laughed. "Alright, alright. Spare me the theatrics."

Herc gave a little bow. Matthew barked another laugh. Ah, revenge is sweet.

 **Long chapter to make up for the long wait. I hope you all enjoyed that! Sorry for making you wait so long. :( Please review!**

 **To the Guest who requested a Brandywine story: I'd love to do that! Are there any specifics you want me to include? ~RedCoatsRedder**


	13. FLUFF N BONDING

**Ah, chapter 13! This has come a long way, thanks for your continued support! Love you all! This chapter has no plot it's just cute moments sorry next one will better trust me I have plans for this and the potential sequel.**

Alexander came hurtling around the corner, dashing into the tent, clutching a book to his chest. He'd met a librarian in the town merely a mile away, who'd laughed and told him to read whatever he wanted. Alex had chosen a book on Julius Caesar.

He had hurried back to camp, not wanting to cause General Washington any worry. Flopping down on his cot, he opened the book and soon became lost to the pages.

The sound of the tent flap snapping open altered him to the entrance of General Washington, who was in the process of removing his coat. He glanced over at Alexander. "Smart boy. It's getting cold out there, son. What are you reading?"

"It's about Julius Caesar, sir! His life history and his policies and everything! It's really interesting the librarian from the town let me borrow it as long as I return it in the same condition!" Alexander's mouth was running a mile a minute, his eyes full of excitement.

Washington couldn't help but chuckle a little. "Sounds wonderful. Just be careful with it, son." Alex nodded distractedly, already re- immersed in the book. He barely noticed when Washington sat beside him. "It's cold in here."

"It's cold everywhere, sir. The only difference is that there's no wind here." Alex replied, not taking his eyes off the words. Washington laughed. "Quite true, Alex. You're still in good health, aren't you?" He worriedly examined the boy. "Yes sir." Alexander murmured under his breath, not really paying attention to anything the General was saying.

"Come on, why don't you at least get a blanket or something, just so you don't freeze to death in here?" When Alexander just nodded distractedly, Washington sighed. He turned away, and the next thing Alex knew, there was warm heavy cloth draped over his shoulders and head, being tugged firmly around him so he was swathed in the blanket. He snuggled deeper inside the warmth, not realizing just how cold it actually was until now.

The General was watching him, an, 'I told you so' look on his face. He also looked a bit like he was trying to hide something, and was doing a very bad job of it indeed. "Sir?" Alexander prodded. "Is something wrong?" Washington looked shocked, and, to Alex's complete astonishment, was actually blushing. "No, nothing's the matter, my boy. I've received a letter from Mount Vernon, and it would, I believe, be necessary for you to read it." He held out the paper, the seal already broken.

Alex unfolded the paper and scanned over it, his disbelief growing with each line. Disbelief and ….hope? Longing? Excitement? He wasn't sure. Looking up at Washington, he saw emotions warring in the older man's eyes as he tried to school his expression. "Sir, the letter ...the letter, from Lady Washington, says that- that the necessary steps have been taken for a- a third member of your family. And- and it includes my name."

Washington nodded. "Martha's been waiting for a chance to meet you, my boy. In fact, she'll be here at camp as soon as winter is over. If she's still as determined as she is via her letters, we have decided to- to take you in, as our adopted son. Officially and legally. That is, if we have your consent."

 _If we have your consent._ They were asking his permission. To legally make him theirs. Was there some sort of formal response he was supposed to give? Hell, how did one even respond to such proposals?

It would make sense. Every logical part of him screamed to accept the offer, and even a few non-logical parts. So then why was he holding back? Washington had been good to him, and already acted as though he was Alex's father. Even going as far as to call Alexander "my son" in front of the entire camp and Lee. Maybe it was because he'd relied on just himself for so long, it was strange and foreign to accept the idea of having someone else to lean on. Though he knew Washington to be a man of honor, and he wasn't one to go back on his word.

"O-okay."

The moment the word left his mouth, the General had embraced him tightly. The man seemed to be ecstatic. "Alex, oh, just you wait, I can't wait for you to see Virginia, you'll love it, with all of the trees and the Potomac flows near the house, and…" It seemed to take physical effort for the man to restrain himself, but his eyes were still sparkling. "I'm sorry, son, I don't mean to overwhelm you."

A problem had just occurred to Alexander. "Sir, will I need to change my name?" Washington's brow furrowed. "Well, not exactly. You can keep going by Hamilton if you wish, but on legal certificates it would be Alexander Hamilton-Washington. That is the only necessary change." Washington smiled down at him. "Yes sir." Alex was reeling a bit, partially from the decision he'd just made, and partially because he was unprepared for the General's reaction.

"Now. Tell me about Caesar." Washington ordered. "How much have you learned?" The resulting conversation lasted until past midnight.

* * *

Meanwhile, just a few yards away, John Laurens was sitting on his bed, staring up at his father, aghast.

"You want to go on a walk? In this? At night? When it's cold, and the wind is blowing?" Henry Laurens sighed. "Yes. It would be good for you to get some fresh air, when it's not filled with gunsmoke and who knows what else. As for the cold, put your cloak on. It's plenty thick to keep you warm."

And that is how the two ended up traipsing down a little path that wound through the woods near camp. Reluctant as he was to be here, John had to admit that it was very beautiful, with the leaves turned silver by the moonlight. A much gentler wind blew up here than at camp, probably because the trees kept them sheltered from the worst of it.

His father seemed to be unbothered by nature, taking the time to observe every leaf and twig, pointing out little things or sharing pieces of information with John from time to time. They reached a clearing, or rather, a small slope that was free of trees, though it did not lack in rocks. A few dotted the grassy space, and John's father sat down on one, motioning for John to join him.

"Look up at the stars, Jack. Can you see any constellations?" John stared up at the stars. They were pretty, yes, but he couldn't see any of the patterns that his father had always been so adept at finding. "That's alright, son. It's about time you learned them, anyhow. See that one, right there, the particularly bright one? It's called the North Star. If you're ever lost, just follow that star and it'll lead you north. And if you look closely, can you see a shape that looks almost like a drinking gourd? It's called the Ursa Minor, but most people seem to prefer Little Dipper to that name."

Yes. There it was, the shape, made out of tiny pinpricks of light. "Dad! Dad, I see it!" Henry laughed, the first time in a while, in a very long while. "Congratulations, John. Here, do you see where I'm pointing? That one's called Scorpius, because in Greek mythology, Orion the Hunter was killing all of the Earth's living things. So the earth goddess, Gaia, sent a scorpion to kill him. If you look over a bit, you can see the constellation Orion. It looks like the scorpion's chasing him, see?"

John frowned. "But the scorpion catches him, in the end, right? I thought it stung him or something." His father clapped him on the back. "Quite right, John. The scorpion does catch Orion, and sting him, so Gaia put the image of the scorpion in the sky as a reward for its job."

"That sounds like a pretty cool reward, to have people stare at an image of you in the sky forever. All for killing someone. It seems a bit much."

"Well, I never said the Greeks weren't extravagant. You're forgetting, they had a god of wine and partying."

"Dionysus, right?"

"Exactly."

He'd almost completely forgotten he was cold. Instead, he and his father sat quietly together on the rock, enjoying the stars, the moonlight, and each other's company.

On the way back to camp, they scared a young guard so badly he nearly bayoneted them in the gut. It was a little funny (though it shouldn't have been) to see the poor man with his hat askew and his bayonet rattling a little on the end of his musket because he hadn't had the time to properly attach it. Henry had had to explain for fifteen minutes that yes, they were Continental Army soldiers, and yes, they knew exactly where their tent was, it was right near General Washington's, and yes, they were aware that it was the middle of the night and an odd time for a walk. But eventually they got through.

John had sighed with relief when they reached the tent. He was suddenly very tired. Flopping down onto the bed, only stopping to remove his jacket and boots, he was asleep before he could properly get under the blankets.

Henry pulled them up to his son's chin, and climbed into his own bed.

* * *

Gilbert had been just about to go to bed when John Miller hurried into the tent, clutching a letter and looking a bit distraught. "Monsieur Miller, what has happened? Is Mademoiselle Rebecca alright? Has something happened?" He jumped to his feet, worried, but Mr. Miller waved his hand with a sort of distracted air. "No, no, Gil, everything's fine. But I do have a letter from Rebecca. Would you like to read it? She's asking about you."

He accepted the letter from Mr. Miller and began to read.

 _My Dear John,_

 _This letter had better find you alive and in good health. And Gilbert as well. I hope you're both alright, and haven't taken ill with anything. You would not believe the turmoil this war has stirred up back in New York. There are redcoats marching through the streets, and officers in the taverns. Thankfully, none have come demanding to stay in our home, but our neighbors, the Williamses, have been forced to take in a pair of captains who seem to be most displeasurable._

 _I have had quite a good idea, and I think the three of us will benefit greatly from it. You should learn to speak French. I know that Gil is fluent, and I myself posses some knowledge of the language. Gilbert and I could teach you the basics, though he'd probably be a better teacher than I. Perhaps Gil would help me touch up on my own French as well. I think it would be good for him, so he can feel a little more at home, perhaps. And it would be good for us as well._

 _You told me all about the little adventures you two have gone on. I am very glad to hear that the both of you have made friends. The tailor, Matthew, and a Henry Laurens? We should invite them to visit once the war is over. And Gilbert's friends too, of course. John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Alexander Hamilton, right?_

 _Missing you every day, your loving wife,_

 _Rebecca Miller_

"You want to learn French, Monsieur Miller?" Gilbert looked at the man. He appeared to be a little flustered and quite a bit embarrassed. "No, well, yes, but I'm afraid- I'm afraid I'm not the best student." Mr. Miller chuckled lightly.

"Non, non! I insist, you must! It will be very fun. Probably. As long as we don't destroy anything. We shall start right now. Sit, sit." Gilbert waved his hands about wildly. John Miller looked both amused and perplexed at the same time, but sat on the edge of his cot nevertheless.

"First we shall cover the numbers one through ten, because they aren't too hard. Repeat after me, Mr. Miller. " _un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf dix."_

"Un duex trois quatre cinq…..Gil I think that this is a bad idea."

"NON! Continue, Monsieur. French."

"Alright, alright. Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf dix. There."

"Oui, very good. Now we start with the ….vowels I think it is in english?"

Mr. Miller had not been lying. He was not the best student. He kept butchering the pronunciations, but Gilbert was patient and repeated them again. And again. And again. It was getting pretty funny, but he didn't want to embarass Mr. Miller.

"Ah, confound it all." Mr. Miller groaned sometime after eleven. Gilbert let out a small giggle then. It made the older man smile. "Do you find my suffering at your hand funny, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette?" Mr. Miller looked very pleased with himself. Gil was momentarily shocked into silence, then he sprang forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Mr. Miller. For a moment, neither said anything, the only movement being Mr. Miller wrapping his own arms around the gangly French boy. Then Gil broke the silence.

"If you can memorize and pronounce my whole name correctly then you can learn French."

"Something tells me you and Rebecca won't relent until I'm speaking French fluently."

"Then you would be correct, Monsieur."

* * *

Hercules walked into the tent and immediately stopped in tracks. "Matthew, what are you doing?"

Because the man was writing on paper, but no words appeared on the page. He looked up, saw Hercules, and gestured for him to come closer. "Here, check this out. It's invisible ink."

"Invisible what now?"

"Ink, Hercules. Watch this. When I put this little substance on over it, you supposedly can see the writing again. This is the first time I've tested it." Matthew reached for a bottle on the desk next to him, and a paintbrush. Dipping the brush into the substance, and brushing it across the page. For a moment, nothing. Then words began to appear.

"That." Hercules replied, staring at the paper in shock. "Is the coolest thing I've ever seen." Matthew grinned. "I know. And we're using it to send messages, disguised on other documents, or even in books. Hiding secrets in plain sight; that ought to fool the redcoats."

"How does it work?" Hercules questioned, moving so he could examine the paper more closely. Matthew rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure, actually. No one really bothered to explain how it worked. They just told me how to use it. Frankly, I'm not sure if they really understood it themselves." He shrugged. "But it doesn't really matter, so long as it keeps the British from discovering our messages."

"Someone should paint a picture with that ink, and then reveal it slowly it would look really cool."

Matthew looked almost offended. "All of the possibilities for this, and you can just think of that? This is the future of espionage, Hercules! I bet it would be good in other businesses too, even. Or, if it becomes popular enough, maybe one day it will be available to everyone."

"Wow." Hercules sat down on the nearby cot. "You've really thought a lot about this." Matthew nodded. "I wonder if there's a way to work it into the tailoring business." Herc snorted. "You just want to use it some more because it's cool." The tailor grinned. "So what if it is?"

"I'm not going to hold it against you. Hey, can I try writing something?"

"Sure, kid. Just be careful. You don't want to waste too much of it."

Hercules moved so he was sitting at the desk, and picked up the quill, dipping it in the mystery ink. It was odd, writing and seeing nothing there. He had to make sure he didn't accidentally write on top of the previous line. When the ink dried, he brushed a bit of the revealer substance across it. Dark words curled across the page, exactly as he'd written them. It was incredible to watch.

"That. Is so. Freaking. Awesome."

"See? You'd use it every chance you got, too, wouldn't you Hercules?" Matthew playfully punched his shoulder. Herc responded with a not _quite_ as gentle shove.

Invisible ink and all, life in the camp was certainly not lacking in adventure and surprises.

 **Ok that was a bit short. Sorry no plot, just fluff this time. Next chapter shall have plot! But still fluff. Because that's a necessity. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	14. Rebecca Miller Is Awesome

**This is completely unprecedented but I thought it was time. Everyone, please welcome the esteemed Martha Washington!**

Spring had finally come. Little green buds appeared on the trees, and gradually, the weather warmed. Alexander trotted through the campground, weaving around the older (and taller) men. There seemed to be some sort of commotion up at the aide de camp offices, and he was curious. When he ducked into the room that was being used for the men's work, he was surprised to find it neat, orderly, silent, and nearly empty. In fact, there were only three people occupying the space besides himself. General Washington, McHenry, and a strange woman with dark hair streaked with lighter grey that he'd never met before. At his entry, all three parties turned.

McHenry smiled, and bowed slightly to the General. "I'd best be going now, sir." Washington nodded, and the other man left. Alex was now standing alone in the room with only the woman and Washington.

"Alexander, this is Martha. My wife." Washington gave him an encouraging smile. "And Martha, this is Alexander Hamilton." Alex couldn't decide if he should bow, or salute, so he ended up doing a strange combination of both that left him mortified and Washington chuckling. "It is a pleasure, and an honor, to make your acquaintance, Lady Washington." Martha waved her hand impatiently. "None of that, now. I insist you call me Martha. George, did you- did he….?" She trails off, but they both know what she means.

"Yes." Both Alex and Washington say it at the same time, and look at each other, blinking in surprise. Martha plows ahead. "Well, then let's get to it! George, find the papers. I can't wait to get to know you, Alexander!" She pulled Alex into a surprisingly firm embrace.

Suddenly everything is a flurry of movement. Washington is carrying a stack of papers, quills, and ink, Martha is clearing a space on one of the desks, and Alex… Alex just stands there. Washington wraps an arm around him and guides him over to the table. Martha bends over and signs her name with a flourish, then Washington adds his name to the paper. He gives the quill to Alex.

His hand is shaking. Alexander braces his arm against the desk, and holds the nib of the quill above the paper. A single drop of ink splashes across the page. He gasps slightly, trepidation seizing him. Washington is rubbing his back, making soothing sounds. "It's alright, my boy. Take a deep breath."

Alexander signs. He does it in a burst of… something. He's not exactly sure how to describe it. But Martha squeezes him tightly, and Washington hugs them both. Alex releases a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

" _Son."_

* * *

Gilbert knew that Mr. Miller missed his wife. He missed Rebecca Miller too. However, that didn't make him prepared for the sight of the lady herself astride a chestnut mare, skirts fluttering, as the horse thundered through the camp. He dashed back into the tent and re-emerged with Mr. Miller, who ran over to his wife.

"Rebecca! What, what are you doing here?"

"John, I decided I missed you. And of course, Gilbert. Where is he?" She looked around until she caught sight of Gil.

"Oh, Gilbert, you're so tall! It's been so long since I saw you last, more than a year, I've missed you so much! Have you been getting into any trouble?" She gave him a stern look. Gil shook his head. "I have missed you much also, Mademoiselle Rebecca. I promise I haven't been getting up to anything." He knew that wasn't true, but hey, no one has to know.

It would have gone smoothly, except Matthew the tailor decided to approach. "Hey, John! Is this the famous Rebecca you've told us about? Pleased to meet you, ma'am. Matthew Williams, spy and tailor, at your service."

"Same to you, Mr. Williams." Rebecca grinned. "Hercules Mulligan is your apprentice, right? John and Gilbert have mentioned the both of you in their letters."

Matthew nodded sagely. "Ah, so I suppose you were concerned that the boys would get into more adventures. Don't want them to steal another cannon, eh?" He laughed.

Gilbert and Mr. Miller stiffened. _Rebecca didn't know._ She turned towards them slowly, a rather blank look on her face. "Is there something you're not telling me?" Gil offered up a sheepish smile. "Non, we have nothing to hide, Mademoiselle!" Mr. Miller chuckled nervously.

"Wait, didn't you tell her? You sent out a letter right after the incident, and one after Schuylkill as well." Matthew looked confused. Rebecca looked livid.

"JOHN BARTHOLOMEW MILLER! YOU TELL ME WHAT HE'S TALKING ABOUT OR SO HELP ME I WILL-" She cut off to take a breath, and glared at them, hands on her hips.

Mr. Miller shot a dark look Matthew's way. "Well, you see dear, the boys, Gil and his friends, they decided to iends, while we were in the midst of a battle, crept behind British lines, and they, well, they stole a cannon." Rebecca turned a shade of red but didn't say anything. Mr. Miller continued.

"And, they were assigned to a mission to burn a mill on the Schuylkill river. They, sort of had to swim to safety, because a British squadron found the party, and everyone thought that the General's boy, Alexander Hamilton, had died, but he didn't. And there was the one time they stumbled across a battalion of enemy soldiers when they were walking in the woods, and that one time they scared us all by going off in camp on their own, but that was a very long time ago, dear, so there's really no need for concern." He looked away.

Gilbert began to creep away, but Mr. Miller grabbed him by the collar. "Nope. You're bearing this out with me, I'm afraid." His tone was teasing but his expression was solemn. Gil sighed, and turned to face Rebecca, nudging the dirt with the toe of his boot.

"You two. Are in such. Big. Trouble." Rebecca's expression was downright terrifying. "John, I can't believe you allowed them to do this. They're only fourteen! They could have been killed! What on earth were you thinking?"

"To be fair, darling, I didn't give Gilbert permission to steal a cannon." Mr. Miller protested, but Rebecca was having none of it. "And MARIE-JOSEPH PAUL YVES ROCH GILBERT DU MOTIER DE LAFAYETTE! What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind? You and your friends could have died! Been caught! Been executed! A thousand things could have gone wrong and then you wouldn't be here, whole and safe and alive, and you are in such big trouble young man!" She sighed and hugged Gil tightly, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs. Rebecca Miller was very strong. "But at least you're alive."

Letting go of him, she turned and whacked them both upside the head. "That's for everything you've already done and everything else you're going to do over the course of this war." Rebecca gripped Gilbert's arm firmly. "Now. Introduce me to your friends. I feel obligated to yell at them too."

"Mademoiselle Rebecca, please, is that really necessary?" Gilbert pleaded.

"One hundred percent. I need to make sure you and your friends are safe, since certain people," she paused to glare at Mr. Miller, "aren't doing their job."

Internally groaning and accepting defeat, Gil led the way back to the cluster of tents occupied by the Laurenses, Matthew and Hercules, and Washington and Alex.

* * *

John was a more than a little surprised, and more scared than he'd like to admit, when a strange woman he'd never seen before came bursting into his tent, followed shortly by an apologetic looking Gilbert. He was even more surprised when she launched into a tirade on their latest "adventures". One thing he noticed, and was grateful for, was the fact that she still seemed unaware about the prank they'd pulled on Lee. It didn't make her wrath any less frightening.

"AND ANOTHER THING! WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED YOU FOUR TO STEAL A CANNON? IN THE MIDDLE OF A BATTLE? If this war doesn't kill you, some little incident you get yourselves stuck in will." she huffed. Gilbert took the opportunity to butt in.

"John, meet Mademoiselle Rebecca Miller."

Ah. Then the scary lady was Mr. Miller's wife. He had told them about her and their home in New York City around the fire at night. Mrs. Miller gave him a gentle smile and left the tent, pausing for a moment at the entrance. "If you four do any more crazy little stunts I will find out, alright? Keep yourselves safe." And with that rather ominous announcement, she was gone.

Gilbert sighed. "She is scary, non? She gave me the same lecture when Monsieur Matthew accidentally let the tales of our little adventures, as he put it." John nodded. "Well, at least she still doesn't know about what we did to Lee, with the flour. That's something, right?" Gil was about to respond when a loud voice screeched from the front of the tent.

"JOHN LAURENS WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY? GILBERT, JOHN MILLER, DID YOU FORGET TO MENTION SOMETHING?"

Both boys looked at each other. "Run." John advised. The two bolted for the exit, shoving past the tent flaps and dashing madly across the camp, the laughter of soldiers and the angry shouting of Rebecca Miller echoing in their ears.

They stumbled to a halt near the kitchens, panting. "Well, "John gasped, "That certainly could have gone better." Gil looked up, a weak smile on his face as he tried to catch his breath. "Oui, I do believe it could have."

* * *

Hercules met Martha Washington when she came walking past his tent, where he was sitting fixing the hem of his blue coat. She was walking with Alexander, who she had apparently asked to show her around the camp.

"...and this is my friend Hercules Mulligan. He's a spy." Alex was saying as the pair walked up to him. Hercules rose to his feet, ruffling his friend's hair with a grin. "Nice to meet you, ma'am." The strange lady smiled at him, and held out her hand. Hercules took it, and they shook. The woman had a very strong grip for one so small. And she was barely taller than Alexander, who wasn't exactly anyone's idea of tall.

"I'm Martha Washington. It is a pleasure, Hercules." She smiled again. "Well, thank you, Alexander. I think I'll go have some tea. Stay out of trouble, you understand? Martha gave them both a stern look.

As soon as she had gone, Hercules turned to Alex. "Why are you walking around camp with the General's wife?" Alexander blushed a bit and kicked a stone. "The General and his wife- they're adopting me, after the war." Hercules's eyebrows shot up. "Really? That's awesome, man!" He gave his small friend a hug.

At that moment, two blurs in the shape of John and Gilbert streaked past them. Not more than a few seconds later, a shriek rang out.

"JOHN LAURENS WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY? GILBERT, JOHN MILLER, DID YOU FORGET TO MENTION SOMETHING?"

The two looked at each other, shrugged, and walked away. Hercules decided that whatever John, Gil, and Mr. Miller had done, it would be best to stay away for now.

 **Sorry for the long wait guys. Busy week. Anyways, hope you enjoyed that! Review please! ~RedCoatsRedder**


	15. A Winter's Ball (Little Lion's in Love)

**I am back! HI EVERYONE!**

The year was 1780. Winter snow swirled around the camp, though not nearly as bad as it had been in previous years. It dusted the top of tents and turned the soldiers' uniforms white. Alexander hurried through the storm, shaking off his coat as he entered the aides' office. He and his friends were fifteen now. Tench Tilghman was the only one in the room. He looked up when Alex entered.

"Hey there, Hammie. The General was looking for you, by the way. There's been a bit of news; you'll want to hear it, trust me." He grinned and wouldn't say anymore, no matter how Alexander pestered him.

So Alex darted up the stairs two at a time, knocking briefly on the door to Washington's study before throwing it open regardless. "Sir! Tench said you wanted to see me, and you had news." he gasped breathlessly, not realizing that there were other people in the room. Alexander recognized Nathanael Greene, Charles Lee, and a newcomer he'd never seen before. The man wasn't much taller than Alex himself, but gave him a charming smile. Washington chuckled slightly.

"Gentlemen, this is my adopted son, Alexander. Alex, you already know Greene and Lee. This is Baron Von Steuben, of Prussia." The baron smiled again, with more teeth this time. "Ah, le général n'a pas mentionné que son petit était une chose si charmante!" Alexander was taken aback, face going slightly red. "Monsieur, je vous demande pardon?"

Now it was the baron's turn to look startled. But he quickly recovered, laughing good-naturedly. "Mes excuses, petit. Je suppose que vous parlez français, alors?" Alex nodded. "Oui monsieur."

Greene, Washington, and Lee were watching curiously. "Well, then. Alexander, if you would be so good as to wait outside, son?"

He leaned against the wall in the manner that Martha liked to describe as "the teenage version of standing at attention", or a halfhearted slouch, as Matthew put it. Voices could be heard from behind the wooden door, Lee's petulant voice mixing with the frustration in the General's usually warm tones, along with Greene's easy speech. Von Steuben added his two cents occasionally, though it was in French. At long last, the door opened, and out came Greene, the baron, and Lee. Greene gave Alex a gentle smile. "Alright, then. Go on in, Alexander."

Washington was sitting at his desk, a smile on his face despite the annoyance and stress lining his face. "I've received a letter from an acquaintance in Morristown. General Philip Schuyler. He's hosting a party, and would welcome our attendance. You'd best tell your friends," he added. "Maybe Mr. Williams can help you with your uniforms? You've all grown so much in the past year." The General had a fond look on his face, teasingly pulling on Alex's too-short sleeve.

Scowling playfully at his adopted father, Alexander darted out to find his friends.

* * *

"A party?" John asked. "Really?"

Alex had just come bursting into the pantry, where the four had taken to gathering. For one, it was warm, and sheltered. And not many people came in, save for the cooks. His friend's eyes were alight with excitement.

"Yes, John! At someone named Philip Schuyler's house." Alexander swept into a bow. "It'll be fun! We can dance, and maybe no one will mind if we drink, since we are fifteen now."

Their birthdays had all passed over the year. To John, it meant one step closer to the end of this war. One year passed. One less year of conflict. He'd started to try and envision what the world would be like if they won. Hercules would go back to New York, and Alexander to the Washingtons in Virginia. It would be South Carolina for him and Dad, and, he supposed, France for Gilbert. If he didn't stay with the Millers in New York. But of course, regardless of where they were living, the four would communicate. They'd made a promise to do so, two years ago when they were a mere thirteen. Alexander probably still possessed the contract that they'd drawn up. It was comforting, to John, to know that no matter what, he wouldn't lose the camaraderie that he'd found in Alexander Hamilton, Hercules Mulligan, and Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette.

But now, the small room was filled with chatter about the upcoming party. "Doesn't Philip Schuyler have three daughters?" Hercules wondered.

Gil nodded. "Oui, I do believe he does." Alexander coughed once.

"So, do any of you know how to dance?"

* * *

When Hercules told Matthew about the party, he did not expect the tailor to clap his hands excitedly and drag Herc into the tent so he could alter his jacket.

"The sleeves are a little big, I think it must have been a standard size intended for one of the soldiers, most of them are taller than your average fifteen year old." Matthew sighed. "Anyways, just let me fix that one frayed hem on your cravat and then you should be good to go. When is this little affair, anyways?"

Hercules realized suddenly that he did not know. Alexander had forgotten to mention it in all of the excitement. "Um…." Matthew gave a good natured sigh. "Well, you'd best find out. I'd hate to think I did all that for nothing."

It also occurred to Hercules that the other question Alex had asked had also gone unanswered. He did _not_ know how to dance.

* * *

Gil fidgeted with the newly repaired hem of his jacket. He and his friends were standing in the drive of the Schuyler residence, along with Mr. Miller, Matthew, Mr. Laurens, and General Washington, though he stood a little way apart. They knocked.

The door opened, spilling a beam of candlelight across the threshold. A smiling man and woman that Gil assumed must be Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler stood in the entrance. It was warm inside, and smelled faintly of roses. "General! Welcome!" The two shook hands in the manner of old friends. Then Mr. Schuyler turned to the rest of them. "Welcome, everyone! Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Philip Schuyler, and this is my wife, Catherine."

Mr. Miller grinned, placing a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "John Miller, and this is-"

"Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, at your service." Gil bowed, meeting the gaze of a rather flustered looking Philip Schuyler. Mr. Laurens cleared his throat. "Anyway…. Henry Laurens, and my son John."

"Matthew Williams, and Hercules Mulligan, my apprentice." Matthew shook Mr. Schuyler's hand brightly. The man turned to Alexander. "And you are…?"

Washington suddenly chuckled. "My apologies." He clapped a hand on Alex's shoulder, ushering him forward. "This is my adopted son, Alexander Hamilton."

The Schuylers concealed their shock well, smiling and waving them on into the ballroom. It was filled with chatter and the whirl of bright fabric as people danced around the room. The four hung back at first, drinking the delicious- Gil thought John had called it _punch_ but he wasn't sure- and watching.

Then John elbowed him. Three girls of about their age had descended into the midst of the party. The tallest was dressed in a shimmering sort of pink, the middle in blue, and the smallest in yellow. "I think those are the Schuyler sisters." John whispered.

Alex winked and strode forward, introducing himself to the tall one in pink. The other two drifted off into the crowd. Gil snuck up behind Alexander and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Ah, bonjour, mademoiselle! Mon petit lion, please introduce me to your friend!"

The look on Alexander's face was downright murderous. The girl introduced herself as Angelica Schuyler. "And you are….?" she inquired.

Gilbert bowed. "Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette! But you may call me Gilbert. It is a pleasure, Miss Schuyler."

She gave him a rather grim smile, then turned back to Alexander. "Come on, I'm about to change your life!" And just like that, she tugged him off into the crowd. Gil caught the half smug, half 'help me' expression on Alex's face before they disappeared.

The party had life, that was for sure. Gil and John danced for most of the night. (Hercules declined, instead choosing to make small talk with other partygoers.) Sometime around midnight, the three were taking a break in one of the parlors when Alexander came hurrying towards them. "Hey guys! This is a great party."

"That it is." Hercules grinned. "So tell us, who'd you meet?" A red flush spread across Alexander's face and neck. "W-what are you talking about, Herc I don't know what you mean…." But even as he said it Gilbert saw his gaze drift back into the room where the girl in blue was speaking with her sister.

"Oooh, petit lion's in love!"

 **And cut! End scene! Did you guys like that? ~RedCoatsRedder**


	16. Off to France, Off to New York

**One word. France. Two words. New York.**

"Gil's going back to France? Why?" Alexander stared up at Hercules in shock. The other boy heaved a sigh and kicked the side of the house. "I don't know, man. I heard it from Mr. Miller, and he looked crushed. We'll have to ask Gilbert himself."

Gilbert was in his and Mr. Miller's tent, adjusting the straps on a pack. He looked up when Alexander and Hercules came in. "Ah, mes amis, what can I do for you?" Alex barreled forward. "Don't leave us, Gilly! At least come back to visit." The French boy frowned. "Petit, what are you talking about?"

Hercules sighed. "We'll miss you, but we're happy you get to go home. Write to us, okay?" When Gilbert laughed, the other two just stood there in shock. "I am sorry, my friends. It appears you have misunderstood, as did Monsieur Miller. But it is alright. We shall be back in a few months."

Alexander let go of Gilbert. "Wait a minute. Explain yourself, Gilbert. Why are you going to France?"

"Well you see, General Washington believes my people could be a valuable ally, and he's right of course, so I, being a Frenchman, am going to France to negotiate with His Majesty King Louis!" Hercules frowned again. "You're fifteen. Will the king even listen to you?" Gilbert waved this aside. "Of course he will! And that is why Mr. Miller is coming along. You will see. This could turn the tide of the war!"

Alexander still wasn't convinced. The French king was unpredictable. Something could happen, it could go wrong…. But he swallowed his worry and smiled. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's our Gilbert."

* * *

Hercules found out just after lunch that Gil wasn't the only one leaving. Matthew approached him after lunch, excitement and trepidation warring on his face. "Hey Hercules! There's been a new development. The General's sending us to York City. Long term mission. We're leaving a day after your friend leaves for France."

John was the first he told. He'd run into his friend as he was exiting the tent, John himself just emerging from his and his father's own tent.

"Wow! That's really exciting, Herc. Just stay safe, alright? I wish we didn't have to lose you and Gil all at once, though." John punched his arm playfully, and a little sadly.

"Hey, no worries, John. The four of us are in this for good, like it or not, remember?" Hercules grinned. John rolled his eyes. "Forget tailoring, become a poet or something, man."

* * *

Gilbert was standing on the dock, one of their many bags in hand, next to Mr. Miller. They were waiting to get on the ship. His friends had come to see him off. So had Rebecca, and Mr. Laurens, and Matthew the tailor.

"By Gil! You must try and write to us once you reach France." John grinned up at him (his and Alex's heights were both subject of many jokes). "I certainly will, mon ami. Do not worry." He attempted a smile, trying to hide his growing nerves about meeting the French monarch again.

Alexander gave him a very formal salute. "I wish you fair winds and following seas." Then he hugged Gilbert tightly. "Don't get caught in any storms, or let the ship catch on fire, and if it does catch on fire, you'd better help, and try not to eat all the food in the hold." At this, Gilbert couldn't help but laugh, no matter his anxieties. Alex could do that to you. "Oui, petit lion I promise I will follow these instructions to the letter."

And then he turned to Hercules, a fresh burst of worry coursing through him as he remembered Hercule's own mission. "You must promise not to get yourself killed in my absence. I do not want to come back to France only to find that you and Matthew have been captured or worse."

Hercules shrugged away his concerns. "Don't worry about us. We'll be fine! Good luck convincing the king to lend us any funds, though. Just smooth talk our way to victory." He elbowed Gil teasingly. His efforts got him an eye roll and a small smile.

Before he knew it they were on the ship, their bags were in the cabin, and he was standing at the stern with Mr. Miller, waving as his friends and the city got smaller and smaller until it was just ocean, all around.

He could do this. Gilbert could do this. He had to.

* * *

John was happy for his friend. Really. Even though spying always had a high chance of death, and they would be surrounded all day every day by British soldiers and officers on every street corner. There was no reason for him to be worried. Hercules and Matthew had done this before, this one was just a little more long-term. They were planning to reopen the tailoring business while they were there, make a little money while collecting intelligence on the enemy.

"Just remember what Gil said. We will be very unhappy with you if we find out you guys got in trouble." John reminded Hercules. "Hey, man, like I said before. We'll be fine. Don't worry."

Alex slapped Hercules on the back. "Yeah, John. Herc will be totally fine. He'll be very careful. No leaving important documents lying around, properly concealing everything, spilling ink or leaving evidence of any hint of spying. _Isn't that right Hercules?"_

"You sound like the General, Alex." Hercules laughed, and even John cracked a smile. Everything would be fine.

 **Sorry this was so short. I promise the next chapters will be longer and better. More excitement, too. Yorktown is fast approaching, my friends. And, um, well, I was considering a sequel. If you would like that please comment, and feel free to request anything! ~RedCoatsRedder**


	17. What Happens When They're Gone

**This is a series of cute funny things that happen while Gilbert and Hercules are away.**

…

"Dad!" Washington turned at the sound of Alexander's voice. "Right in here, Alex." he called back. "What is it?"

The young boy all but flung open the door, causing it to bounce off the opposite wall with a bang. Alexander threw himself down on a chair, scattering an armful of documents on the desk as he did so. "I wrote a couple responses to Congress and I know that you have aides and Tench told me that already too but I just couldn't help it….." He trailed on and on.

Washington allowed his lips to twitch slightly, watching his (adopted) boy ramble about war and incompetent leaders. Alex would do well for himself, if he chose to get work elsewhere and not stay to run the plantation.

 _Oh._ He'd neglected to consider that. Of course he had known, deep down that his Alexander wasn't really cut out for a quiet life of farming, no. A position in government, or law even, somewhere that would put his impressive talents with the quill to work.

 _Somewhere he wouldn't be able to protect Alexander._ As if his son would require protection. No, Alexander would be perfectly capable of handling himself. Washington felt his heart clench nonetheless. _He'll be alright. His mind is sharp as a whip, and he's brave. Alex will be fine._

It was then that Washington noticed the curious look Alexander was giving him. "Father, is everything well?"

He forced himself to laugh. "Don't worry, my dear boy. Just the typical stress. Tell me, have you thought about attending school when this infernal war is finally done?"

And that sets Alexander off again, mouth going a mile a minute. Washington listens with a smile on his lips. His darling boy is just a child still (and always will be, whispers a voice in the back of his mind).

…

The river sparkled, cool and inviting.

It didn't matter _how_ bad South Carolina could get during the summer; John still hated the humidity. It seemed the very air was clinging to your skin. All was still save for the whining drone of insects and the rustle of wind in the leaves.

But he and Alex were free, on this particular afternoon. They were free to roam camp at their leisure. And the river looked very nice right about now.

Alex was already trotting down the banks, and he turned back to call to John. "Hey, John! The water feels great, and check it out! There are a bunch of little fish swimming around down here. And these little crabs!"

John couldn't hold back a laugh at his friend's delight. He raced down the bank to join Alexander. Kicking off their shoes, and laying their clothing carefully on dry grass (save for their underclothes, of course. It wouldn't be fun to explain themselves otherwise if anyone happened to wander down), they waded slowly into the cool water.

As John sank deeper and deeper into the river, walking until the water reached his chest, a wave of water surged up his back, soaking the tips of his hair. Whirling around, he spied Alex doubled over with laughter, his eyes bright with mischief. John sent a splash his way, which Alexander returned. It wasn't long before the two were engaged in an all-out splashing war.

"Ha!"

"Take that, Johnny boy!"

When they finally stopped, both were thoroughly soaked. Alex padded languidly out to deeper water. He swam as easily and skillfully as a fish, a result of his life on an island. John joined him, treading water as they watched the sun sink lower in the sky.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Alexander was the first to speak. "The sunset." John looked at the color spreading across the horizon, painting the clouds a delicate purple. "Yeah. Yeah, it really is."

Alex's hair drifted across the surface of the river, tugged backwards by the current. John allowed himself to float on his back, his arms and legs dangling in the dark water. Alexander suddenly started for the shore, calling back to John, "We'd better get back, I can see your dad heading this way."

Crap. John hurriedly paddled after his friend, splashing up onto the grassy banks. The two stood shivering in their soaked undergarments as they collected their clothing, putting it on best they could. Henry Laurens walked over to greet them.

"John, Alexander. Come back to camp now, it's getting late. And you'll be able to dry off properly, too." he said, giving them a look that could have been annoyed or amused. The two boys hurried along beside him as they walked back into the maze of white tents.

…

"I am _not_ sick!" Alexander crossed his arms and gave his friend a look.

"Alex, I heard you coughing from my tent! It's a miracle that Washington let you out of your tent this morning." John protested. At that moment, Tench Tilghman walked up to the pair. "There you are. Hammie, your father's asked me to take you back to your tent, and make sure you stay there.

Alexander felt his jaw drop. He caught sight of John giving him a smug look. He sighed, and trailed after Tench. "He says he'll be coming to check on you soon. In the meantime, he also said you're not to write or work. Just rest."

After Tench left, Alex flopped down on his cot, kicking the floor with the heel of his boot. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have, because he woke up to a hand stroking his hair. "Hmmmnn?" Alex asked, blinking sleepily. Washington was smiling gently down at him. "Hey there, son. How are you feeling?"

"I feel…. like shit." Washington laughed softly. "It's okay, Alex. I'll ask someone to look at you, make sure you're alright."

True to his word, a physician came later. Alexander gave him a mistrustful look, but allowed the man to do his job. As Washington hovered at the edge of the tent, the other man frowned slightly and walked over to him. Alex couldn't quite hear the whispered conversation, but his father's expression clouded and worry lined his face. "Dad, is everything alright?"

Washington and the physician turned to him, and then back to each other. "Yes, Alex. Everything's fine. You're just a little more ill than I thought."

Panic coursed through Alexander. The last time he was sick, his mother...his mother had died. His breathing must have been speeding up, because Washington sat down next to him, a comforting arm winding around his shoulders. "Don't worry about this. You'll be fine. In the meantime, no work, no writing. Just rest and recovery, got it?"

Alexander nodded. "Y-yes sir."

* * *

Washington couldn't help it. He was terrified. Terrified for his little Alexander. Okay, maybe the boy was fifteen. But he was sick...and the physician had warned him. Alex had a low fever, and it was steadily worsening. Washington could see it already. A red flush was blooming across his cheeks, and his head tossed slightly on the pillow.

"Da-ad. I don't feel so good." Alexander whined. Washington felt his heart skip a beat. "It's alright. You're okay." He murmured, laying the back of his hand on Alex's forehead. Heat was blossoming under the boy's skin.

 _He's fine. Just make sure you follow the physician's instructions._ Swallowing his fear, he turned and walked out the tent. Someone would be able to look after his son, while he wasn't able to be there.

The Laurens boy, John, was waiting outside, twisting his hands nervously. He looked up when he caught sight of the General. "Is- is Alex ok, sir?" Forcing a smile onto his face, Washington tried his best to be reassuring. "Yes, he's just fine."

* * *

When Alexander next regained consciousness, Tench Tilghman was standing in the tent. "Good evening, Hammie. The General wanted me to tell you, when you woke up, that he was sorry not to be with you, and also the doctor left some medicine. Here." He brandished a cup of rather cloudy water. Alexander eyed it distastefully. Seeing the expression on his face, Tench smiled. "Relax. It's just some herbs dissolved in water." He handed over the cup, which Alex gulped down hesitantly. It _did_ taste of herbs.

Tench squeezed his shoulder gently and placed a book at the foot of Alex's bed. "You can read that if you like. McHenry recommended it for you." Alexander smiled weakly. "Thanks, Tench."

John came in not fifteen minutes later. "What did I say? You're sick. Knew it." Alex groaned. "Yes, yes, fine. You're right, I'm wrong, we know." John nodded, a rather smug look on his face. "Yep. Recover quick, okay? It's too quiet around camp these days."

Alexander barked a laugh. "Yeah. When I'm up again we'll prank Lee and wreak havoc." With the promise of chaos in the future, the two boys chattered about home, the weather, the British, and a thousand other topics.

When the sun rose the next morning, it brought a cool mist that drifted through the camp. For Alex, it brought a higher fever and a violent cough. And a worried Washington.

"How about you sit up, and see if that'll help any." The General fretted, piling a blanket on top of him. Alex complied, a cough rattling in his chest. "That's it."

"Dad, m'fine. This is completely unnecessary." Alexander sighed. Washington's lips twitched as he tapped Alex on the head. "You'll be fine when I say you're fine."

"I'm _fifteen!_ "

"I'm afraid that's not a valid argument, son."

He sighed, and pulled the blanket up to his nose, peeking over it at Washington. "Leave me to my misery, Father." Alex dramatically flung his arms over his head, sighing gustily. Washington laughed for real this time. "Very well. Get some sleep and remember the medicine the physician left. I'll be back to check on you in an hour or so." And with that, he was gone.

The cool air coming in from the tent flap felt nice, and Alexander was asleep before he knew it.

His fever broke that evening.

 **Fluff and friendship and more fluff. And you're never too old for splash fights. Ever. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	18. Favorite Fighting Frenchman

**Annnnnd guess who's coming home? Our favorite fighting Frenchman!**

"Hurry, John, hurry! Gil's ship is due in port any minute now!"

Alexander and John raced through the harbor, dodging sailors and merchants and all sorts of people. Their friend was coming home. By the letters he sent them, the situation was beginning to look hopeful. The king was still uncertain, but hey, something's better than nothing, right?

When they reached the dock, panting, an elegant ship with flags flying was within a mile of the shore. People were cheering, and the two boys added their shouts to the commotion.

Within minutes the ship's smooth wooden hull was scraping against the dock, and the air was filled with the cries of the sailors and the dull thud of wet ropes slapping against the dock. Alexander craned his neck to see over the heads of the crowd, and caught sight of a figure on the bow.

It was Gilbert.

His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he'd grown taller, it seemed. He was standing almost on top of the railing, scanning the crowd anxiously. After a few moments Mr. Miller joined him. He too looked different, vastly so. For one, he'd grown a beard. Second, he was sporting a scar across his forehead, twisting down near his right eye.

The sides of the ship scraped against the dock, and the air split with the sound of the gangplank thudding down and the happy shouts of the people all around.

For a moment, all was chaos. And then the crowd parted around them like a wave, exposing Gilbert and Mr. Miller. At first the three could only look at each other, then the spell broke and they charged forward. Falling into each other's embrace, shouting happily as they were reunited after being apart for so long. (And each was secretly ecstatic that the others had managed to survive.)

Behind them Mr. Miller and Mr. Laurens greeted each other, commenting on the changes that had occurred in their separation. Most notably, Mr. Miller's scar.

Meanwhile, Alexander and John peppered Gil with questions about France.

"What did the king say?"

"Tell us what France is like!"

"What is the nobility over there like? Are they as bad as King George?"

Gilbert waved his hand. "France is lovely. And its nobles….they are extravagant. That is not very good for its people. As for the matter of military support…you shall just have to wait until I tell General Washington."

The other two groaned, but hurried to help their friend gather his things and approached the two older men. "Hercules is still not home yet, non?" Gil asked. John sighed. "No, not yet. But we get letters from him and Matthew often." he added, looking a bit happier.

Mr.s Miller and Laurens turned at the sound of their voices. "Gilbert, it's good to see you again. I trust France went well?"

"You shall have to wait and see, Monsieur Laurens!" Gilbert trilled. This prompted an eye roll from the older man.

"Hey Mr. Miller, how'd you get that scar?" John inquired.

* * *

John was overjoyed to see his friend. Gilbert arrived home safe and sound. The news of what had been dubbed "the Reign of Terror", or just simply "the Terror." Though it did appear that not everyone had been so fortunate to escape France unscathed.

So when Mr. Miller chuckled and shared a look with Gilbert, John knew they were in for a good story.

"Well, you see, it wasn't entirely my fault."

"It was right after we'd gotten off the ship, and a man sent by King Louis arrived with a carriage. It was very nice, by the way. Anyhow, we rode in that thing for far too long. I hate carriage travel, it makes me sick. So we finally made it to Versailles, which is _huge_ , with all its gardens and buildings and people.

We got out of the carriage and we were told that 'His Majesty can't see you today so allow Jean-something- or -other to escort you to your rooms.' The whole palace is filled with gold and dripping in wealth. And French nobility. Great food, though.

The next day, around noon, a footman came to the door and told us that King Louis is ready to see us, but he'd only be willing to talk to his fellow countryman, the Marquis.

So I waited outside the room, no big deal. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw someone coming up slowly behind me, sword drawn. Naturally my first thought was of Gilbert."

At this, Gil snorted. "Oui, Monsieur Miller. You absolutely did not shriek like a frightened cat and grab the vase by the door and throw it, no, that didn't happen at all." John and Alex snickered a little. Mr. Miller gave Gilbert a pointed look and continued.

" _Despite that,_ I was attempting to defend myself with that vace. It didn't even hit the man, but he struck out with his sword anyways. I jumped back, but not in time. The blade cut across my face, leaving this in its wake. By that point the king's guards were alerted by the noise and came outside to stop us before the situation escalated any further. I was told that the man was one of the elite guard, and apparently it's their job to skulk around the palace. So that was a trifle embarrassing. And that's the story of our adventures in France!" he chuckled.

Gilbert shook his head, a smirk on his face. "You're leaving out the part when you nearly got into a fistfight with one of the sailors on the way back." Mr. Miller turned a bright red. "SHHH, Gilbert! They don't need to know about that! And if you so much as _hint_ at that towards Rebecca you are grounded for the rest of your mortal life."

And no matter how much the rest of them begged and pleaded and protested, Mr. Miller still refused to tell them the story.

* * *

Gilbert had been happy to see France again.

It was just that the place was so much different than he remembered. The people seemed more tired, more worn. And others, others seemed to be lit from within with some sort of revolutionary fever. There seemed to be violent action happening in the streets and the monarchy wasn't doing much about it. Civilians had begun to dub it "the Terror."

When they reached the palace, he'd anxiously awaited his audience with King Louis. And when he'd bowed before the throne, he'd looked up to see the smallest spark of interest in the king's eyes.

The king had been reluctant to talk about the war, but Gilbert would be damned before he walked out of here without a fight. While they were talking he'd heard the sounds of Monsieur Miller's fight with one of the elite guard, which he was fairly sure hadn't helped his case all that much, given that his poor guardian was soon dubbed, "the mad american" by much of the nobility following the incident (he hadn't translated it for Mr. Miller, however).

But now he was home, off of that cursed ship and back in America with his friends. The absence of Hercules was worrying, but John and Alexander had assured him that their friend was writing frequently and made sure to remind them that he was fine. The others had managed to secure horses for him and Mr. Miller, and they were headed to camp, planning to get there sometime that night, hopefully.

At long, long last he was standing outside General Washington's study, with Alexander, who'd been allowed to come with him, and Mr. Miller as well. Taking a deep breath, nervous excitement coursing through his veins, he raised his hand and rapped twice on the door. "Enter." The General's warm voice called out.

Gilbert opened the door, coming to stand before Washington's desk. The man smiled at him, his eyes holding so much more emotion. Worry, stress, anticipation, and most of all, hope. Gil hadn't quite realized just how valuable French aid would be to the war before this moment. Smiling up at the commander, he opened his mouth to speak.

"The French have decided to support America in its war for independence."

It seemed that the entire camp was celebrating. Everyone had heard the news, everyone was gathered around a fire somewhere, laughing and singing and getting drunk, filled with hope after going so long without a reason for it. Gilbert kept getting slapped on the back by soldier after soldier, and by midnight his muscles ached from it. Alex kept bouncing on his heels, elation clear in every line of his body. John was grinning from ear to ear. They'd wrote an excitement- filled letter to Hercules and Matthew in New York city, and then spent the rest of the night out under the stars, the possibility of victory seeming very real and very close.

 **Yay, Gilbert's home! And the French are being supportive, good job. To the amazing reader I AM A PHILIP, you may like my story,** _ **A Stormy Meeting.**_ **Please review if you enjoyed this, and a sequel is in the works! The next chapter is going to take a long time.**


	19. Yorktown part 1

**I want to thank all of you. Without you this story wouldn't have happened. After eighteen chapters, our story is coming to a close. Welcome to Yorktown.**

Alexander slung the final saddlebag over his horse's back. They were preparing to move camp, to Yorktown, Virginia. After many long hours of careful planning, it had been decided that this would be the place to finally end this cursed war. The French fleet would cut the British off at sea, and their terrestrial forces would engage the British soldiers there. Patting the horse's flank, Alex went off to go see if John or Gilbert needed any help.

They didn't, so the boys ducked underneath a tall oak tree to rest in the shade for a moment. It was peaceful, with the light filtering through the leaves. At that very moment a shadow burst out from behind the tree.

(They would later vehemently deny their shrieking.)

Hercules Mulligan stood grinning in front of his three friends.

" _HERCULES!_ Mon ami, you are home!" Gilbert was the first one to recover, and dashed forward to embrace the other boy. John scowled and playfully punched Herc on the arm. "Don't _do_ that, man. Welcome back." Alexander grinned happily, hugging his friend as well. "Just in time, too. We're leaving for Yorktown at noon."

"Yeah, Matthew and I were hoping to catch you before the army moved. He claims it's because he had an awful sense of direction." Hercules grinned. "Anyways, he's already got everything ready so we're ready to leave whenever."

Alexander waved his hand impatiently. "Forget that for a moment. Tell us about your mission!" He'd eagerly kept track of the intelligence coming in from New York for General Washington, reading and re-reading every letter that came from his friend, picking out the information while also ensuring that Hercules and Matthew remained unharmed.

Fortunately for him, Hercules was more than happy to oblige. He told them all the stories he hadn't been able to relay in correspondence for fear of being discovered as a spy.

"...and so we were really, really close that time! We actually almost got arrested, or at least Matthew did, they didn't really suspect me. Which was good, I suppose, but it was still a tough situation to get out of. The British are swarming all over that city, you can't even go a few feet without seeing an officer or a company of soldiers. Plus they haven't completely recovered from the fire that devastated the city a few years back. You wouldn't know it with the amount of social events that the upper class go to. It's like they're pretending to themselves that nothing's wrong."

"Weird." John put his opinion in. Alexander couldn't help but agree with his friend on that point. Gilbert rolled his eyes. "The French nobility are the same. The people are starving and all they do is hold balls and parties. I fear that the people will soon take matters into their own hands. Without a leader like General Washington, I do not know if their revolution can go smoothly."

"We can help the French." Alex assured him, just as Matthew came over with Mr. Miller and Mr. Laurens. "Time to go, boys." Matthew called out. "The General wants us in Yorktown as soon as possible. Mount your horses, let's go!" He clapped his hands.

Swinging his leg over his mount, Alexander gathered the reins and spurred the horse forward. He fell in line with the others, beginning the long ride up to their new camp.

* * *

Hercules was glad to be home. Well, not home exactly, but out of the stinking, British- infested city. The war had left the place ravished and empty. It was full of Loyalists and soldiers for the Crown. Like walking on thin ice, one misstep could send you plummeting into the watery depths. Or in his case, off a gallows.

But it was alright, even though they'd had more than a few close calls. He and Matthew had managed not to blow their cover, and made it safely back to the army just in time to join them for the move to Yorktown. Alex had filled him in. Apparently this could be the battle that would end the war.

And wouldn't they all want that. To go home, to build a new country where they weren't controlled by an unjust king an ocean away.

Of course, Hercules hadn't factored in how incredibly long the trek would be to Virginia. They stopped as little as possible, hoping to get to the town in time to properly prepare for the battle. The plan, as he had been told, would be to cut the British off at sea with the help of the French fleet, and corner General Cornwallis. But even the horses were tired after two days of nonstop traveling.

"If I die before we even get to Yorktown, I am going to be sorely disappointed in myself." John lamented one night when they actually got to rest. Hercules grinned. "Don't worry, John. We'll be sure to carry on your legacy."

"Thanks." The other boy grumbled. Alexander spoke up suddenly. "If you can make it two more days, then we'll be at Yorktown before the week is up. Dad told me this morning." he said matter -of -factly. This news was welcomed with much cheering and relief on the other three's part. Hercules, for one, couldn't wait to get there. The sooner they did, the sooner they could engage the British and (hopefully) win the war.

Matthew came over to them then, instructing them to lay out their bedrolls if they wanted to get any sleep that night. They would continue to Yorktown at first light.

"I. Am beginning to really hate this." Alexander voiced the next day, as they trekked on, the sun beating down on the backs of their necks. The summer heat had not quite left just yet. Hercules only sighed and urged his horse onward. "Just a little further, buddy." To which Alex gave him an odd look, "Are you talking to me or to the horse?", prompting laughter from their friends and the other soldiers. Hercules considered for a moment, and then replied, "Both of you." decisively.

And finally, after a long, tiring, journey, the army was moving through Yorktown. The masts of the French ships flew their flags proudly in the harbor, and, not too far away, one could just catch a glimpse of the fortifications of General Cornwallis's camp, the barest flash of red standing out against the earth.

They wasted no time in setting up a camp of their own. The four boys moved quickly as the rest of the army, pitching tents for the most part, but as the sun set, they were called over to help with an earthwork. Hercules paused for a moment, leaning against his shovel and gazing out around him. Gilbert stopped digging as well to smile at his friend. "You look like you are in some sort of dramatic novel, mon ami." John grinned. "A brave adventurer, standing at the bow of a ship, looking out over a new land." Alexander looked up from the wooden pole he was attempting to shove into the earth. (attempting was the key word, as it was taller than he was by at least a foot) "I'm pretty sure most characters in novels don't dig earthworks in the light of the setting sun. I think it's usually a bit more romantic."

Gilbert nodded sagely. "Yes. ln literature, for example, the characters are standing on the pinnacle of their success, gazing off seriously into a majestic sunset, right before they are called into action to help turn the tide of some huge life-altering event."

"That just got very meaningful." John broke the silence. The other three nodded and returned to their digging. There was only so much of that stuff that one could handle in a day, after all.

* * *

John was happy to be in the new camp, if only so that they didn't have to travel anymore. There was far less danger of being ambushed in their own camp than there was on the road, when the soldiers were tired and had been on the move for hours, left unawares.

He and his friends had thrown down their shovels some time ago, long after the moon had risen, finally finishing the earthwork. They'd gone to get some food, joined by his father, Mr. Miller, and Matthew. Then, a major had walked up to Henry Laurens and informed him that General Washington would like to see him and his son in his tent, to discuss and urgent matter.

So here he was, sitting next to his father in front of General Washington as the two older men sipped on some whiskey and spoke. John had stopped paying attention to the conversation some time ago, instead choosing to observe the room around him.

The General's tent had two beds in it, one for the man himself, and one, of course, for Alexander. There was a desk, the one Washington was sitting behind, and a chair over by one corner, with a lap desk on top of it. Alex's, he presumed. The first bed was neatly made, with the blankets pulled stiffly over it and the pillow resting neatly at the head. The other, however, obviously hastily made by someone who was just looking to meet the barest minimum of requirements, as if he had something far more important to do.

And of course the General himself. The older man sat with all of the perfect posture that would be expected from someone in his position. He looked serious, unsmiling. And it was true that he rarely smiled at anyone, save for Alexander of course. Washington also had an aura of command. He could get your attention simply by walking into a room. Fitting, then, that he was the leader of the Continental Army.

All of the sudden, the words "South Carolina" caught John's attention. "Wait, what? What about South Carolina?" he blurted. His father and the General turned to look at him; his father looking almost scandalized, the General never once losing his smooth facade.

"We're going home, John. We're going to rally a battalion of slaves to fight the British forces down in the south."

…

John stumbled through the camp not more than half and hour later, looking for his friends. They were still seated around the fire, laughing at something one of them had said, but stopped when they saw the expression on his face. Gathering his resolve, John met their expectant and somewhat worried expressions. "Me and Dad are to go to South Carolina; we're to get together a battalion of slaves from the plantations to help fight the enemy."

Alexander was the first one to speak. "John, no! You might get hurt, you might get killed, a dozen other things could happen. If you want, I'll talk to the General myself, we can stop this." John cut him off before he could continue. "No, it's okay, Alex. I- I think I want to do this. I like the idea of paying the slaves to become soldiers, and they can earn their freedom too. I never liked the practice of slavery, and I think that this is a good step on the road to abolition."

His friends still looked worried, John knew that his words had done little to nothing to alleviate them of that. But Gilbert placed a hand on his shoulder. "We will respect your wishes, John. But if you ever need us, all you have to do is send word." Hercules nodded, and after a moment, so did Alexander, though he still looked nervous. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

He had to hand it to his friends. After learning that he was to leave the very next day, they had thrown all of their efforts into helping him prepare, packing up clothes and enough paper and ink to keep him writing letters for a month. Bundling blankets, and Hercules helped him conceal one of Henry Laurens's pistols at the bottom of his pack.

The next morning was bright, clear, and cool, a gentle wind blowing and rousing the flags hanging around the camps and on the masts of the ships. John slung the bag over his horse, and turned to say goodbye to his friends, only to have Alexander barrel into him, hug him tightly, then step back and give the other two a chance to say their goodbyes. It passed far too quickly for his liking, and before he knew it, he was mounted on the back of his horse, next to his father, waving goodbye to his friends for what he hoped wouldn't be the last time. As he spurred the horse forward, he glanced back one last time to see the three boys waving at him.

* * *

The three boys watched their friend ride away next to his father. Alexander took a shuddering breath, and Gilbert wrapped an arm around him. "He will be fine, petit lion." Alex gave his friend a weak smile. "You haven't called me that since we were thirteen." Hercules laughed softly. "Well, you're still the same little firebrand you always were."

"Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence, Herc."

Even though they all knew that John should be fine, that there was likely no reason to worry, they still felt the stirrings of anxiety in their guts. It might have just been the unrest felt everywhere. The war, and their fate, was tied to the outcome of this battle.

 **HAHAHA BET YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS THE LAST CHAPTER! SIKE! I am sorry about this but I felt bad making you guys wait. Next chapter will be up soon! ~RedCoatsRedder**


	20. Yorktown part 2

**Sorry this took so long. Wow you guys are awesome I love you all! Welcome to our final chapter. For real this time.**

 _And so the sun rises on Yorktown, and the last day of many of the men here, and the many more beyond the borders of this place. Here is where the final moves will play out, deciding the outcome of a war that will change the course of history and time itself._

Alexander Hamilton was standing next to his adoptive father, surveying the town just mere yards from the camp where they stood waiting. The General had a firm grip on his son's shoulder, as if he were afraid that he'd dissolve in his arms. Washington took a deep breath, and turned to Alex. "Son, I've thought about it for many a day now, and mostly against my will, I have given you, the Marquis, and Mr. Mulligan permission to bear arms in this battle."

What. Wow. Alexander tried in vain to stifle his ungainly shriek of excitement. "Really? We do? Are you joking with me?" Washington shook his head slightly. Alex whooped and darted off, pausing a few yards away to shout back to his father. "I promise I won't let you down, you'll see!" And then he was gone, off to find Gil and Hercules.

Washington stood alone, looking out into the town. In a voice lost to the wind, he murmured, "I know, my dear boy. That's not what worries me."

…

Alexander, meanwhile, was charging through the rows of white tents, a rather ridiculous grin plastered on his face. He skidded 'round a corner and all but ran into Hercules.

"Slow down, man." His friend gave him a reproachful look. "Sorry, sorry." Alexander panted. "Where's Gil? I've got news."

They gathered in Hercules's tent, because Matthew was off somewhere and Mr. Miller was asleep. "You'll never believe what my father told me." Alex's eyes were bright. "We're to be allowed to fight in the battle. For real."

For a moment all the two could focus on was peppering Alex with questions. When they finally relented, he launched into an explanation of his conversation with General Washington, and how the matter had come about.

"Maybe Lady Washington convinced him." Hercules suggested. "Or Mrs. Miller." Gilbert shook his head. "Mademoiselle Rebecca would never allow this, not in a million years, and Lady Washington is far too protective of Alex to let him near danger."

Alexander had been thinking about it for some time, and had decided on who he thought would be the most likely candidate. "I bet it was General Greene. He seems like the type to give anyone a chance to prove themselves, even if it's maybe not the best idea."

Gilbert bristled with mock outrage. "I think we are quite capable, no matter what Greene says."

* * *

Hercules was excited. And worried. Mostly worried. Alexander had taken to referring to him as the "dad- friend." It was a pretty accurate description, seeing as he looked after his friends closely and paid more attention to their well- being than they themselves did.

But seriously, they had to be some of the most impulsive people on the planet. Whose idea was it to give four teenagers guns and basically tell them, "have at it, go kill some redcoats or whatever." He was still fretting about this when Matthew walked into the tent and saw the gathering of boys.

"Hey there. I heard the news. I must say, I'm not too thrilled about it, but I'm sure you three are. Now, Gilbert, Mr. Miller asked me to give you this lecture in his stead. Alexander, I imagine that General Washington has already told you, but I'm going to tell you again." Matthew looked very serious. "It is crucial that you obey _all_ orders, even if they're to retreat or stay back from the front lines. I really want you all to come back from this alive. We don't know when for sure the fighting will begin, but when it does, and make no mistake it will, remember what I said. If any of you get killed you will be in deep trouble."

Alexander spoke up. "But we'll be dead, so how will you punish us?"

Matthew looked at the boy incredulously. Hercules hid a smile as the tailor mulled over his response. "Well, when I die, I will come after you and punish your ghostly asses. Got it?" Alexander seemed satisfied with this answer and nodded.

"Good." Matthew made a shooing motion with his hands. "Now get out, I want to take a nap."

After being kicked out of the tent, the three wandered around aimlessly, somehow ending up in the aides' offices. Tench Tilghman greeted them, brandishing a letter towards Gilbert. "Your friend in South Carolina has written to you," he explained. "It came just this morning. I was wondering when you'd stop by."

Gilbert snatched the letter and darted back out of the offices, Hercules and Alex close on his heels. As they left, Alexander called, "Thanks Tench!" over his shoulder. "No problem, Alexander!" The man responded.

Stopping underneath their tree, Gilbert ripped off the wax seal and shook out the letter. The other two crowded around him, and they began to read.

 _Dear Alex, Gil, and Hercules:_

 _If you're reading this, I'm still alive! And I realize that that might not be the best way to start out a letter but I think it was the most important piece of information I have to share with you._

 _Anyways, we made it to South Carolina. It's a lot like I remembered it, to be honest. And we went home for a little bit. You guys should come down here once the war's over. The weather's great, it's hot, like always, but everyone's getting ready for fall. New planting, harvesting, all that._

 _I miss you guys_ _a ton, and Dad says to tell Mr. Miller and Mr. Williams that he misses them also but he won't write a letter because, well, actually I don't know why he won't write. I don't think he likes it all that much, because whenever he has to do it he grumbles about the quill cramping his hand or some nonsense._

 _But on a different subject, the campaign down here is going okay. It's harder than I expected to get plantation owners to rally a battalion, but they're all stubborn old fools anyways. Dad's letting me do most of the talking, which is good I think because he's not all that convincing. I am allowed to fight with the battalion as well. Are you guys allowed to participate in the fighting up at Yorktown? If you are, don't you dare die on me._

 _I'll see you when the war is done. Your friend,_

 _John Laurens_

Gilbert closed the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. "Mes amis, he's alive and well." Hercules released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Thank God." Alex was still looking at the paper in Gil's hand. "I hope that he knows what he's doing. He'd better not get himself killed."

"We'll be sure to remind him of that in our next letter." Hercules reassured. "Don't stress too much, John's tough. He'll be fine."

Before he could say anything else, the sound of cannon fire rang out into the air. In unison, all three turned and ran back towards camp.

Over the sound of explosions, Hercules could just hear Alex shouting, "It's alright! It's the ships, firing on the British defenses, on that port that Cornwallis had constructed. This battle is planned more like a siege, I think."

 _The Siege of Yorktown,_ Hercules thought. _A name, and a battle, to be remembered._

* * *

Gilbert was standing in a sheltered spot, overlooking the harbor. The French ships clustered there would fire rounds of cannonballs and grapeshot into the British defenses constructed along the water. A few ships would occasionally return fire, but the number left in condition to do so was dropping rapidly. The siege had been going on for three days, and no soldiers had yet been mobilized to attack from land.

When he felt a tap at his shoulder, he jumped nearly two feet. Whirling around, he was met with the unusually serious face of his friend, Alexander. "Hey Gil. Come on, we need to find Hercules and get ready. It's time."

There was no need to ask Alex what he meant. Gilbert followed him quickly, into the American camp. It was time for the moment they'd been waiting for. It was time to fight.

Hercules was just coming out of his tent when they approached. One look at their faces, and he knew what was going on. They separated back to their tents, grabbing weaponry and preparing. Gil pulled on his boots, and slung the musket he'd been given over his shoulder. Snatching up the bayonet, he placed it carefully in a bag, along with bullets and powder. Mr. Miller entered not a few moments later, saw what he was doing, and sighed.

"Be careful, ok? I'm expecting you back from this in one piece, got it?" Mr. Miller was not part of the two columns selected to attack. This had done nothing to alleviate his anxieties about sending his adopted son into battle. "I promise, Monesier Miller." And just like that, it was time to go. Hugging the man tightly around the middle, a whispered farewell, and then Gilbert was out in the bright sunlight again, making his way towards the group of men preparing to march to what would (hopefully) become a victory, and the end of the war at last.

He saw Alexander talking to General Washington, who, if his expression was anything to go by, was regretting his decision. Alexander appeared to be reassuring him, and Gilbert caught a hint of the conversation. "Dad, it's going to be fine. Promise. We'll be back in a few days. I'm not going to die, I'll listen to orders. I really will." Whatever General Washington said was for Alex's ears alone, as he bent down to hug his son tightly (Alex was still short).

After that, it seemed to happen too fast. Gilbert met with Alexander and Hercules, falling into their places as the columns began to move forward. He dared not risk a glance back, so Gil kept his eyes trained on the horizon ahead.

When the group split into the two separate columns, and the order was issued to ready their ammunition and fix their bayonets, it felt all too real. The blades were sharp and the bullets deadly, but Marie- Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette was no coward. He readied his musket and attached the blade, fixing a look of determination on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friends do the same.

Time seemed to bend and shift, the sun and shadows warping around him as they marched out, prepared to take on the remaining British forces. Night fell, they slept, the sun rose, they marched. It seemed to Gilbert a bit like a dream, where you knew something wasn't quite right but still couldn't shake yourself out of it.

Then, suddenly, the dream state lifted. They were standing within shouting distance of a group of men, their numbers smaller than they'd been not more than a few days prior, red coats flashing bright.

And the fragile silence was broken.

Blue flooded down to collide with the red as the American soldiers raced down to meet the British. Gilbert was aware of Alexander and Hercules on either side of him, both with determination and adrenaline painting their faces. Then the world was lost to a whirlwind of sound and color.

All around him was the clang of steel on steel, the crack of gunfire, the screaming cries from men and horses alike. All Gilbert could focus on was the next enemy. His bayonet flashed and his musket smoked, he only paused to reload and then he was up again, fighting not only for his life but for the hope of a new nation, for freedom, for his friends. The battle raged fiercely, blood staining blue coats crimson and making red coats redder.

Time was once again warping around him, so it could have been seconds or hours when the voice shouted, "Retreat, fall back, retreat!" And the British soldiers turned tail and fled.

Gilbert had the sense of a tide going out, a tide of red, as the enemy retreated. He was left standing there, as the gunsmoke cleared, amid his fellows. And amid those who had given their lives in the struggle, both red and blue laying in the grass because when has death ever discriminated between any one side in a war?

Alexander. Hercules. Where were they? Gil frantically scanned the faces of the surviving soldiers, and yes, there, was that…?

Alive. Oh, thank the stars they were all alive. The three boys ran to each other, falling together, shaking with relief. Alive. Nothing else was as important that day to him.

Yet the siege of the town carried on. The ships still bombed the harbor and the defenses. They dug in, prepared to face their opponents once more, should it be necessary.

Then, at the end of the week, the unthinkable happened. Alex was the first to notice it, as he was with most things.

"Gil. Herc. Look, look there. On the parapet." A low hum of excitement filled his voice. Gilbert raised his head, and was met with the sight of a young officer, standing on a parapet, removing something from the pocket of his uniform and waving it in the air.

A white handkerchief.

Surrender.

They'd done it.

Negotiations went quickly after that. General Washington spoke to General Cornwallis, and after two days, two days filled with excitement and wonder and disbelief, the British officially surrendered. America was free.

The ceremony was on October nineteenth, the year of seventeen and eighty one. Gil breathed deeply, standing side by side with Alexander and Hercules. Was it really possible? Under his breath, he murmured, "The world just turned upside down."

Upon their return to the main army, Mr. Miller was ecstatic to see him. "Gilbert, my God, you're alive, look at you, thank goodness, I don't know what I would have done if you'd been killed." Matthew was silent as he hugged Hercules, the relief on his face too much for words. General Washington, too, had a smile on his lips as he gripped Alexander's shoulder tightly.

Two days after the surrender, Tench Tilghman gave Alex another letter as the three were walking past. "It's from South Carolina."

* * *

John received word of the news while he was saddling a horse.

Perhaps not the most dramatic setting to receive word of the freedom of your country, but it was how he found out. It came in a letter from Yorktown, from Alex and Gil and Herc. All three had survived the battle, along with General Washington, Mr. Miller, and Matthew. It took him a few seconds to process the news, during which time he read the sentence over and over again.

 _We won we won we won we won we won wE WON WE WON._

"We won," John breathed softly. "WE WON!"

He ran out to show the others the letter. When his father read it, his eyebrows shot up so high John thought they might reach his hairline. When the officers read it, many of them collapsed into chairs or against posts or simply onto the ground. When the word spread to the men, cheers exploded through the camp and didn't abate until well past midnight.

The next day, the order came to meet up with the rest of the army. Apparently they needed to settle some business before everyone was allowed to return to their homes and families. But nothing could temper the joy each and every man felt. Freedom, at last, after so many hard years of bloodshed and starvation and cold, all leading up to this wonderful moment.

Well, freedom for most everyone. What would happen to the slaves that had been enlisted? The company had had yet to face an actual conflict when news came of the surrender. Would the men be given their freedom, or would people argue and say that the bargain was never technically put into play?

This was what John was thinking about when the screaming and gunfire started. And then all he felt was a searing, burning pain in his left shoulder.

His breath came frantically; the world blurred into a mess of color and sound. Distantly he heard his father calling his name, over and over and over. He was staring up at the sky. It was a beautiful blue, dotted here and there with white clouds that looked like they'd been painted there. If he possessed the materials, John would have drawn it. Turtles, his mind supplied. He'd drawn turtles once.

A face swam into his field of vision. His father. John's father was kneeling next to him, hands covering the wound and using something to staunch the blood flow. Another man was running towards them, John recognized him as the medic that had traveled with them. They were poking at his wound, talking in voices too soft for him to hear. Someone ripped away his coat, shirt, and waistcoat, binding up his shoulder tightly with long strips of cloth. A faint pronouncement from above echoed through his mind.

" _He'll live he'll live he'll live."_

 _Me,_ John realized. _They're talking about me. I'll live._

Secure in the knowledge that he would wake to see the sky again, John allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness.

When he woke again, he was laying in a tent, the white fabric flapping in the breeze. His father was sitting in a chair a few feet away, looking worn. When he noticed his son's awakening, he hurried over and clasped his hand. "John, you're awake. Oh my god, you're awake. I kept wondering if I would have to go home and tell everyone that I'd lost you, lost you right as we finally won and ended this damn war." There were tears gathering in the corners of Henry Laurens's eyes. "I don't know what I would have done if you'd been killed, John."

John managed a smile. "Well, I'm not dead. I'm here and I'm not dead." His father gave his own weak smile back. "That's good, because we're heading up to meet with the rest of the army. I sent your friends a letter informing them of your condition, and I've received a torrent of correspondence ever since. Which is truly remarkable, seeing as it's only been three days since you were shot. I think they're having the small fiery one doing the writing."

"T-three days?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. But don't worry; nothing else has happened in your absence."

Well then. When John returned, he owed his friends an apology. And he was probably in for a _very_ long lecture from Alex.

* * *

The war was done. And the four boys had survived.

They'd grown up during the war, not, perhaps, the best environment for four young teenagers, merely thirteen, but they'd done it. Now sixteen, the boys had made it safe and sound through conflict, spying, and many more adventures besides. They'd made a family for themselves, especially Gilbert and Alexander.

Standing in the open field that had once been the camp of the American army, they prepared to go their separate ways. But not for good, no. They were planning to exchange news and letters as often as possible, and eventually meet up somewhere in the new country, hopefully New York City.

Alexander was going to Virginia, to live with the Washingtons, as they'd decided long ago. He was officially their adopted son, and he planned to stay with them for as long as he could, right up until he went to college in New York.

Gilbert had decided to remain in America, staying with the Millers in New York City. The couple was expecting a child sometime in the coming year, and he was very excited. The other three had repeatedly assured him that he would be an excellent brother.

Hercules was going to keep working with Matthew. He'd mentioned that he wanted to start his own business one day, maybe expand beyond the tailoring industry (Not likely, though. He was very fond, and talented, at the business).

John was going with his father back to the family home in South Carolina. He missed his siblings greatly, and had described them in vast detail.

So now they were about to part, not forever, but certainly for a very long time.

"Group hug?" Alexander suggested, rocking back on his heels.

"Yeah." Came the muffled reply, as the boys crowded closer.

Hercules sighed. "I know it's not like we won't write, and we're definitely going to try and see each other again, but why does it feel like we'll never see each other again?"

"It's going to be fine, mon ami." Gilbert reassured. "We're all going to end up in the same city at some point, remember that."

College or family or business or something else entirely was destined to reunite these four.

And then they were swept up in last goodbyes as Alexander swung himself up inside the carriage next to Washington, Gil and Mr. Miller setting off in their own, with Hercules and Matthew in yet another. John and his father were going to stay in Yorktown for a week's time, to fully ensure that John's shoulder had had adequate time to begin healing.

The children of the revolution were about to become the children of a new nation.

 **Wow. After twenty chapters, our story has come to its close. I want to thank all of you who continued to read this faithfully right to the end, and every single one of you who reviewed. You made this possible. Thank you for your continued support and appreciation, words cannot express how much I love you all. If you'd like to see more of the Revolutionary Set's adventures, stick around for the sequel, Children of a New Nation! Up soon. In the meantime, I remain your obedient servant, ~RedCoatsRedder.**


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